Saturday Stories
by Deana
Summary: Collection of stories for a theme chosen weekly by The Musketeers UK facebook group.)
1. Mickey

**Mickey**  
A modern Musketeers story by Deana

In the Musketeers UK group on facebook, they came up with a 'Saturday Story' idea where we post a story every Saturday based on a certain theme. This was the first one we did, and we had to build a story around this group of words:  
beach, nightclub, omnipotent, earring, extraction, diplomat, birthday, chocolate, towel, taser, fever, wine, kiss, moonlight, coffee, mobile phone, naughty, clock, key, goldfish, ballad, lavender, taxi, headache, embracing, delicious, mirror, memorizing, universal, shower, spice, and computer.

This was the first time I ever wrote modern Musketeers, and I managed to fit in every single required word!

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A knock on the door abruptly woke Aramis, who was surprised to feel pain lacing through his head. He winced and ignored the knock, until it came again.

"Aramis?" he heard. "You up?"

With a soft moan, Aramis opened his eyes and looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was nine in the morning, and he abruptly remembered where he was.

"Aramis?" came the voice again. "You in there?"

"Yes," he called, wincing when it increased the pain. He slowly pulled himself out of the bed and crossed to the door of his hotel room, opening it and blinking at the person who stood in the hall.

Porthos frowned at the state of his friend. "You look like crap! What's wrong?"

Aramis sighed. "I have a headache."

"Why?" Porthos asked, coming into the room. "You didn't drink much at the nightclub last night."

Aramis sighed and rubbed one eye. "I dunno why; it's throbbing like I got hit with a taser."

"How would _you_ know what it feels like to be tasered?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shrugged. "I _imagine_ this is what it feels like. I think I need a brain extraction!"

Porthos placed a hand on Aramis' forehead. "No fever. Maybe you should stay here and rest instead of coming to the beach."

Aramis almost shook his head, but stopped himself in time. "After how perfectly we planned this vacation for the four of us? No, I'm coming."

Porthos nodded. "You gonna take a shower first?"

Aramis sighed, not feeling up to it. "Why shower _before_ getting covered with sand?"

Porthos nodded. "True." He watched as Aramis slowly moved away to get dressed. "Anything I can do?"

"Grab me a towel to bring," Aramis said as he opened his drawer to find his swimming trunks. "And my mobile phone. And my door key."

Porthos obeyed. "Wanna bring your computer?" he asked, gesturing to Aramis' laptop.

"No," Aramis said. He went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror, finding that he _did_ look like crap. It took him longer than usual to get ready, but he eventually succeeded and came out of the bathroom.

Porthos could see the pain in his eyes. "You sure you don't wanna stay here?"

Aramis wasn't sure at all, but he said, "I'll be fine. I can either lie on my bed or lie on a beach; it makes no difference."

Porthos opened the door for him and they headed to the hotel dining room, finding Athos and d'Artagnan waiting for them.

"You don't look normal," was how d'Artagnan greeted Aramis.

"I've been tellin' him that for years!" Porthos said.

"Headache," Aramis told them.

"How much wine did you have last night?" a surprised Athos asked.

"Only two glasses," Aramis told him.

"So it's not from that, then," said d'Artagnan.

The waitress came then and took their order, filling their mugs with coffee. Everyone took a sip before Aramis suddenly spoke.

"I think I know what's causing my headache," he said.

Everyone looked at him.

"Did anyone see the girl that I was talking to last night at the club?"

All three of them nodded.

"The way the lights were glinting off her humongous earrings, there's no way someone wouldn't notice her," Porthos said.

"Was she naughty?" d'Artagnan asked.

"She was _strange_ ," Aramis replied. "Told me that she was a diplomat's daughter, it was her birthday, and she wanted to kiss me under the moonlight."

"Why is that strange?" Athos asked.

Aramis frowned. "Because it was the first thing she said…she hadn't even told me her name yet."

D'Artagnan chuckled.

"She smelled like lavender," Aramis said. "And I think…I think she put a unique spice in my drink."

Everyone frowned.

"Are you saying that she slipped you a mickey?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded. "I remember placing my glass down but it wasn't where I thought when I went to take it again. She pointed it out and I picked it up, but didn't drink it right away. I eventually got away from her, and _then_ I drank it."

The others were astonished at the notion but their conversation was interrupted by the waitress returning with their food.

"Should you see a doctor?" Athos asked.

"No reason," Aramis answered. "I feel fine otherwise."

The others were glad at that, and dug into their breakfast.

"Delicious!" D'Artagnan said at the end. "I can't wait to see how _supper_ in this place tastes!"

As they all rose from the table, Athos said to Aramis, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay here?"

"No," Aramis said. "This is our vacation and I'm coming."

Ten minutes later, they were getting out of their rented SUV and carrying their stuff onto the beach.

"Too bad there's nothing we can do to get rid of your headache," said Porthos.

"Only God is omnipotent," Aramis told him.

"This bright sun likely isn't going to help you, you know," Athos commented as he laid a blanket on the sand.

"If you want to go back to the hotel at some point, let me know and I'll call a taxi and take you back," said Porthos.

"Thanks, but I'm sure I'll be fine," Aramis replied, squinting and shielding his eyes from the glare. A pair of sunglasses suddenly appeared before his face and he took them from Athos. "Oh, _thank_ you," he said, putting them on.

Everyone sat on the blanket and Porthos brought up a playlist on his phone. The ballad, 'I Want to know what Love is' was the first song to play, and it reminded Aramis of the woman who'd drugged his drink. _She_ certainly needed to know instead of slipping mickeys into people's drinks!

With a sigh, Aramis lay down on the blanket and closed his eyes. Shade suddenly blocked out the sunlight, and he opened his eyes to find Porthos situating the umbrella they'd brought to cover him.

"You good?" Porthos asked. At Aramis' nod, he said. "K, I'm goin' in the water. Bye!" With that, he ran off.

Aramis closed his eyes, and a few minutes later, d'Artagnan spoke again.

"Aramis?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you awake?"

"No, I'm talking in my sleep."

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Someone has their eye on you."

Aramis looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"There's a girl staring at you as if she's memorizing your face."

Aramis followed his gaze and was relieved to see that it wasn't the woman from the nightclub. She looked away, embarrassed at being caught.

"Want some?" he suddenly heard.

Aramis was surprised to see d'Artagnan holding out a package of Goldfish crackers. "You're already hungry again?" he asked, leaning up on an elbow.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Well I figured, ocean: fish, you know. This should be a universal snack for the beach!"

Aramis chuckled and took a few before sitting up and grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler. He drank half the bottle and lay down again, and the next thing he heard was crinkling. He opened his eyes to find the others eating the sandwiches they'd brought. "Lunchtime already?" he asked.

"Yup," said Porthos, mouth full as he took a swig of chocolate milk.

"How's your headache?" Athos asked.

"A lot better," Aramis realized. He sat up and sighed with relief when the pain didn't increase.

D'Artagnan handed him his sandwich and he ate it and finished his bottle of water. The pain went away even more, and he started to feel like himself again. "Porthos, where's your earring?" he suddenly asked.

"Good, you're back!" Porthos said. "I left it at the hotel just in case it got lost here." He then patted the blanket. "Lie down, get rid of the rest of that headache so we can have more fun tonight."

Aramis made a face. "Not the nightclub."

"I was thinking more of watching 'The Force Awakens' again," Porthos said. "I brought the DVD and bags of popcorn!"

Everyone agreed to his idea, and Aramis dozed off again. When he later woke, his headache was almost gone and they eventually went back to the hotel. Supper was as delicious as d'Artagnan hoped, and they all assembled in Aramis' room to watch the movie.

Porthos plopped down on the couch beside Aramis and handed him a bag of popcorn. "How's your head?"

"It's fine," Aramis said.

Porthos threw an arm around his shoulders, half-embracing him. "Good." He tossed bags of popcorn to d'Artagnan and Athos and hit 'play' on the remote.

As the Star Wars music began, d'Artagnan suddenly said, "Not long ago in a nightclub not far away, a crazy lady slipped Aramis a mickey and his friends made sure he never lived it down…" He ducked when a pillow flew towards his head, and looked towards Aramis with a, "Ha!" that was cut off when a second pillow smacked him right in the face.

"And Aramis made sure that d'Artagnan never lived _that_ down!" Aramis exclaimed.

THE END

I hope you all read my note at the beginning, which explains the oddness of this story, lol!


	2. Pirates

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 **A Pirate's Life for Me… _Not_.  
**A Musketeers story by Deana

The theme for this story was 'pirate' and these were the words that we had to include: landlubber, grog, toothbrush, unscrupulous, cutlass, rum, parrot, keelhaul, mermaid, wench, audacious, jollyroger, loot, anchor, flag, Tortuga, hook, berth, waves, shark, compass, mutiny, overboard, eye patch, galleon, heart locket, earring, grapefruit, hornswaggle, woodworm, bandana.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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Aramis blinked his eyes open, moaning weakly at the pain that throbbed through his head. He felt like he was floating and closed his eyes again, as his entire body seemed to suddenly move downwards and up again as if he were on a ship. He knew that to be impossible though, and attributed it to the concussion that he diagnosed himself with. He knew that standing was unwise, but he needed to find Athos and Porthos, who were obviously not with him.

The strange motion happened again, and Aramis reopened his eyes. He blinked with shock when he found wooden walls around himself, and realized that he _was_ indeed in a berth on a ship. He quickly tried to push himself up off the floor, but found that his wrists were tied behind his back. His ankles were bound too and a piece of rope secured his hands to a metal hook on the wall, showing Aramis that he was quite thoroughly restrained.

 _How did this happen?_ Aramis thought. _Where are the others?_ Try as he might, he couldn't remember how he'd been captured, and he quickly tried to get his wrists untied.

A singing voice suddenly reached his ears; _"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me."_ It was the English language, to Aramis' surprise, not French.

The door suddenly opened, and Aramis looked up as someone entered.

"Oh, the landlubber's awake," the man said, before taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. "How's yer head?"

Aramis blinked. This pirate didn't look very dangerous. "How do you _think_ it is?"

The pirate smiled. "I know _exactly_ how it feels, mate; been hit on the head too many times meself…usually by a wench. One time, it was a mermaid wot did it." He shuddered at the thought before taking another swig from the bottle. Looking at Aramis, he suddenly held it out towards him. "Forgettin' me manners! Rum?"

Aramis sighed. "No."

"Grog?"

"No," Aramis answered, squirming to sit up. "I'd like to know where I am."

"A Spanish galleon!" the pirate answered. "No, you're on the Black Pearl; I am Captain Jack Sparrow, at ya service." He gave an elaborate bow but nearly tripped himself with the cutlass that hung from his waist.

Aramis watched with an incredulous expression. However unscrupulous Captain Sparrow had to be, he came across as being nothing but a buffoon. "Where are you taking me? Where are my friends?"

Captain Sparrow righted himself and placed the bottle of rum on a nearby table. "We're sailing for Tortuga, mate, to pick up some loot that I recently left there."

Aramis blinked. "Where on earth is Tortuga?"

Sparrow held up a finger and thought for a minute. "Well, you go left off the coast of the Americas, and…no no, that's not it…you go right. Right? Right. No, you go left. Then you head south until you hit a nice little island where I left me loot, savvy?" He made a face as if unsure of his words before suddenly taking a compass out of his pocket. He flipped it open before turning himself around in a circle and muttering to himself.

Aramis closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering if this was a hallucination brought on by his concussion. His head was throbbing and he gave a little moan again.

Sparrow turned around and put the compass away before walking closer and peering at him. "Feelin' all right, mate?"

Aramis winced at the scent of the pirate's breath and wondered if the man ever used a toothbrush. "Why have you captured me?"

"It wasn't me, actually," Sparrow said. "We was all ashore in a tavern and one of me crew was playin' cards with yer big friend. You saw 'im, the one with the heart locket? He was hornswoggled and saw your lovely pistols. He tried to take them as payment but you didn't cooperate and so, here you are."

Aramis shook his aching head. Of all the people that Porthos had to cheat at cards, it had to be a pirate. "And you just let your man kidnap an innocent person?"

Sparrow shrugged. "It was either that or risk a mutiny!"

Aramis sighed. "I demand that you release me at once; I am a member of the King's Musketeers."

Sparrow nodded. "I'd love to do that, mate, but what would you do if I did, jump overboard? That would be quite an audacious thing to do unless you want to be keelhauled. Either that, or a shark would get ya."

Aramis blinked. He didn't know what the English word 'keelhauled' meant, but was more surprised to see this bumbling idiot correctly use the word 'audacious'. "How do I know that we're truly at sea?"

"How about this," said Sparrow. "I'll take you above deck and you can see for yourself." With that, he cut the rope around Aramis' ankles and the one that that secured him to the wall before reaching down to haul him upright.

The room spun around Aramis and he suddenly felt something painfully poke his head.

"Got a lump the size of a grapefruit," Sparrow commented. He slowly pulled Aramis along until they got to the top deck, and after Aramis' headache adjusted to the bright sunlight, he looked around with amazement.

The Jolly Roger was flapping in the breeze and he watched as a parrot flew past to land on a man's shoulder. He crossed to the rail and saw waves lapping against the ship…which wasn't moving; anchor down as it floated parallel to the shore.

"Why are we still here?!" Captain Sparrow exclaimed. "Gibbs! I told you to weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen!" He looked all around and spun in a circle, but didn't appear to spot the man whom he was talking to.

"Nay, Cap'n!" a voice called. "Ye only told us to hoist the flag!"

Aramis spotted a man in the crow's nest leaning down as he shouted, and he looked at Sparrow as he carefully slinked away, hoping that the crazy pirate was too distracted to notice his escape.

"Well get down here and do the rest!" Sparrow shouted back.

"Aye, Cap'n!"

Sparrow sighed and turned around, in time to see that Aramis was gone. Before he could say anything, a gunshot suddenly sounded, and war broke loose.

Aramis had gone back through the door to the lower decks in an attempt to find a blade that he could cut his hands loose with. He was surprised to suddenly hear the gunshot and he automatically ducked, hiding behind a woodworm-eaten desk.

"Aramis!" he heard.

Aramis stood at the sound of Porthos' voice, going back to the door and watching as his two friends easily defeated the pirates…the ones who didn't run away, that is. Unexpectedly, a form flew towards the door and threw it open, sending Aramis flying backwards, unable to catch himself with his hands still bound. He heard nothing for a few moments before he suddenly felt hands patting his face.

"Aramis! Aramis!" he heard, and opened his eyes to see Porthos above him.

"Is he all right?" Athos' voice called.

Aramis blinked, looking around to see the remaining pirates with their hands up as Athos held two pistols on them…Aramis' pistols.

"See?" Sparrow suddenly said. "I told you he was fine!"

"Aramis?" Athos called.

Hearing two different languages thrown at him at the same time wasn't helping Aramis' head. He winced as Porthos helped him sit up, and answered, "I'm fine." It was a complete lie; if he thought his head hurt before, it was nothing compared to _now_.

"See?" said Sparrow.

"What is he saying?" Athos asked Aramis.

"He's saying that he told you I was fine," Aramis said, closing his eyes and wincing while putting a hand on his head. "Leave them, Athos…they're the worst pirates I've ever seen."

Athos backed up, waiting until Porthos helped Aramis stand, who slumped in his friend's grasp with a groan. "Tell them to let us go and we won't hurt anymore of them," Athos said.

Aramis repeated the words in English, and Sparrow nodded. "Fine, I know when we're beaten, mate." He waved. "Hope you feel better!"

Aramis rolled his eyes, immediately regretting it when it made his head hurt worse. "We can go."

They made their way to the ramp and Athos kept the guns pointed at the pirates until they reached the bottom. Then, to Aramis' surprise, Porthos picked him up and ran, lest one of the pirates shoot at them.

The motion was too much for Aramis' head and he passed out, waking later in a comfortable bed.

"We're at an inn," Athos explained. "How do you feel?"

Aramis blinked. "Was I really the prisoner of pirates?"

"Yes," Porthos answered, guiltily looking at the floor. "All because I cheated one at cards. I'm so sorry, Aramis."

Aramis sighed, closing his eyes with a wince at the pain in his head. "I forgive you."

A hand squeezed his arm, and Aramis opened his eyes again. He blinked at Porthos before chuckling.

Porthos frowned. "What's so funny?"

"With your earring and bandana, you'd make a perfect pirate," Aramis said.

Porthos didn't expect to hear that, and looked at Athos.

Athos quirked one corner of his mouth up. "He is right."

Porthos looked at Aramis again. "Well then, go to sleep before I make ya walk the plank."

Aramis chuckled again. Minutes later, he was dreaming of Porthos captaining a ship full of talking sparrows.

THE END


	3. Sci-Fi

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 **Where No Musketeer has Gone Before  
** By Deana

This theme was Sci-Fi and these are the words that we had to use: galaxy, corpsified, cosmic, clone, FTL or faster than light, Red Leader, steam, warp speed, quantum, Red 5, wormhole, black hole, comet, Apollo, battlestar, pain, lightsaber, alien, eclipse, supernova, zeitgeist, space station, transformer, moon, time travel, darkness, naquadah generator, and kyber crystal. I had sooooo much fun with this one LOL!

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"A Long Time Ago in a Galaxy Far, Far Away…"

"Copy, Red Leader Aramis!"

"Red 5, how can you copy when I didn't give you any commands? Plus, 'Red Leader' is my name without the 'Aramis'."

"Danger, Will Robinson! There's a wormhole up ahead, no, sorry, a black hole!"

"It's either one or the other, d'Artagnan…"

"Maybe it's a comet. No, a supernova! But Athos, you're supposed to call me 'Apollo', remember?"

"This isn't Battlestar Galactica, d'Artagnan, it's Laser Tag."

"Ow! I'm in pain!"

"Aramis?! What happened?!"

"D'Artagnan got me with his lightsaber, Porthos! I'm falling into darkness!" *thud*

"Athos! Aramis has been corpsified!"

"I heard. You're a cosmic drama queen, Aramis."

"Hey!"

"Corpses don't talk. D'Artagnan, I think it's time to shoot him out the space station's garbage chute. Aim for the moon."

"Oh yeah? Take that!"

*ZAP*

"You missed me, Aramis."

"I did not! I came at you at warp speed and that laser hit you dead-center! Only an alien-Athos clone would've survived that!"

"You missed."

"Lie! The only way you could've dodged it is if you moved faster than light!"

"I can see the steam coming out of your ears, Aramis. Fine, you got me." *thud*

"Oh crap, my lightsaber won't work. I think it needs a new kyber crystal, or maybe a naquadah generator would help…"

"Take Athos' lightsaber, Porthos, he's down!"

"Not anymore I'm not."

*ZAP*

"Athos, that wasn't fair! My gun won't work!"

"Lightsaber!"

"My lightsaber won't work!" *ZAP* "Oh, there we go."

"Ha! Athos got zapped again!"

"Go ahead, rub it in. Can we go now?"

"Oh I think Athos wants to watch the Quantum Leap marathon tonight."

"Was that a time travel show?"

"Porthos! You never watched Quantum Leap?"

"Of course I did, Aramis, I was just trying to distract you!"

*ZAP*

"Ahhhhh!"

"Actually, I'd rather watch the new Transformer movie. There's someone in it who looks like you, Aramis."

"I noticed!"

"Hey, corpses can't talk!"

"They can now, d'Artagnan!"

*ZAP*

"Okay Athos, I think I'd like to go too. I wanna see the lunar eclipse tonight anyway."

"Hey, does anyone know how to use the word 'zeitgeist' in a sentence?"

...

"That was…really random, Porthos. Google it."

"Okay. Are we leaving?"

"Yes."

"Yup."

"Sure, in a second…"

*ZAP*

"Aramiiiiiiiis!"

THE END


	4. Fly on the Wall

Saturday Story theme: 'Fly on the Wall'.

This theme was to insert ourselves into an episode, so I put myself in S1E4, 'The Good Soldier'. This takes place right after the scene of Aramis sitting at the outside table talking to Serge, after his flashback to Savoy.

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As I drove my cart into the musketeer garrison, the first man I spotted was Aramis—which wasn't hard; as he was the only man I ever looked for. I'd been in love with him since the very first time he'd handed me his laundry; all rolled up in a sack, giving me his charming smile as he said 'thank you'.

Today, he didn't look right, as he sat at the table talking to Serge. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but after Serge walked away, I watched as Aramis looked up towards the balcony, where Captain Treville nodded at him. Aramis looked away after that and stared at the table, with a forlorn expression that I immediately recognized…it was the same look that had been on his face for months after the Savoy massacre.

I flicked the reins to speed up the horses, and I stopped my laundry cart near the table.

Aramis didn't look up.

Getting down, I walked over and sat beside him on the bench. "Nice to see you too, Aramis."

Life came back into his eyes at that, and he looked up with his usual smile. "Good day, mademoiselle."

I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Why are you looking so down? Are you _thinking_ again?"

Aramis looked away, his smile fading. "Yes."

I snaked my arm around his and held it tightly. "It's been five years, Aramis; you need to let it go."

Aramis sighed.

"I know that you feel guilty for being the only survivor…besides Marsac."

Aramis suddenly held his breath.

"But God wanted you to survive," I continued. "I'm not saying that He wanted the others to die, but you…you're…you're special."

Aramis let out his breath.

"A lot of people would be lost without you…including me!"

He smiled at that.

"Life will continue day after day and what happened will kept getting further and further into the past," I said. "There's no sense in allowing it to upset you anymore. You're alive and well, the day is sunny and warm. Be happy."

Aramis looked at me with genuine gratitude and put his arm around me.

I smiled and shifted closer to him. "What made you think of it today?"

Aramis hesitated. "The Duke of Savoy is in Paris."

"Oh," I replied. "Don't think about him. Imagine something happy instead…like you and I married."

He chuckled at that, turning his head to look at me with his usual bright smile.

I felt my face blush and I smiled back before laying my head on his shoulder.

Serge came outside then and exclaimed, "There you are! I need those towels!"

Rolling my eyes, I lifted my head. "My work is never done." I sighed and looked at Aramis. "Until we meet again!"

Aramis leaned over to plant a soft kiss on my lips. "Thank you."

I smiled and boldly reached out to run a hand through his lovely hair. "Anytime, Aramis. I'm always here if you need me."

Aramis smiled back and I inwardly wished that Serge would disappear, but he remained standing there in my line of vision as I stared at Aramis. With another sigh, I finally stood up, gave Aramis one last smile, and headed over to my cart to get Serge his blasted towels.

THE END


	5. Eat It!

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Saturday Story: Song

By Deana

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"How about Titanic?"

"You mean 'My Heart Will go On'? I don't feel like listening to love songs, Aramis."

Porthos chuckled. "Well that kills ninety percent of the stuff in his playlist, Athos."

Athos sighed. He was at the wheel as they drove to his mechanic to have his SUV's radio fixed. His two friends wouldn't stop fiddling with it, so he'd forced them both to sit in the back. Aramis was trying to pick a song to play on his phone, declaring that they could not drive without music, but they were having a hard time deciding which one.

"How about 'White and Nerdy'?" Aramis asked.

Athos rolled his eyes. "You know that I can't stand Weird Al."

"I know, that's why I suggested it! How can anyone not like his music? His parodies are hilarious!"

"To each his own," said Athos.

Porthos suddenly chuckled, and Aramis laughed too. Abruptly, Michael Jackson's 'Beat It' filled the air...at least, Athos HOPED that it was 'Beat It'.

Porthos started to loudly sing. "Howcome you're always such a fussy young man? Don't want no Captain Crunch don't want no Raisin Bran? Well don't you know that other kids are starving in Japan, so EAT IT, just eat it!"

"Oh noooooo," Athos moaned. More Weird Al.

Aramis took the next verse. "Don't wanna argue I don't want a debate! Don't wanna hear about what kind of food you hate! You won't get no dessert till you clean off your plate so EAT IT! Don't you tell me you're full!"

"Just eat it, eat it!" both of them sang together. "Get yourself an egg and beat it! Have some more chicken, have some more pie, it doesn't matter if it's boiled or fried, just eat it, just eat it!"

"Just SHUT UP!" Athos exclaimed.

"Just eat it!" they continued. "Just eat it, oooooh!"

"I'm going to _kill_ you both," Athos threatened.

Porthos kept singing. "Your table manners are a cryin' shame! You're playin' with your food, this ain't some kind of game! Now if you starve to death, you'll just have yourself to blame. So eat it, just eat it!"

"I'm about to drive this car into a ditch!" Athos threatened.

Aramis sang next. "You better listen, better do what you're told! You haven't even touched your tuna casserole! You better chow down or it's gonna get cold, so eat it!"

The both took the chorus again. "I don't care if you're full! Just eat it, eat it! Open up your mouth and feed it! Have some more yogurt, have some more spam! It doesn't matter if it's fresh or canned! Just eat it, eat it!"

Athos made sure there were no other vehicles around him before he suddenly jerked the steering wheel to the right, flying into the next lane before moving back. He heard an unexpected *thud* over the music, but before he could ask what the noise was, Porthos spoke.

"Athos! You knocked him out!"

Athos looked in the rearview mirror to see Aramis sprawled over Porthos' lap. "How?!" he exclaimed, looking for a place to pull over.

"He hit his head on the window when you swerved!" Porthos answered.

"Wasn't he wearing his seatbelt?!" Athos exclaimed.

"Yes!" Porthos answered. "Looks like _it_ broke too!"

Athos didn't even get upset that something _else_ in his SUV needed to be fixed; he was too mortified that he'd actually hurt Aramis. His heart was beating wildly as he pulled his truck to the side of the road and jumped out. He quickly opened the door and found that Porthos had turned Aramis over and was patting his face.

A few seconds later, Aramis winced. "Oww," he said.

"Are you all right?!" Porthos exclaimed.

"We didn't get to finish our song," Aramis moaned, eyes still closed.

Porthos suddenly realized that no music was playing, and he looked at his own window, remembering that he'd lowered it. "Athos, his phone!"

Athos turned and looked around, quickly running as he prayed that no cars would run it over. He finally heard singing—more Weird Al—and followed it to the phone that he found laying on the other side of the road. He picked it up and ran back to find that Porthos had grabbed an ice pack out of the first aid kit and was holding it to Aramis' head as their injured friend now sat upright, slumped sideways against the seat.

"I am so, so sorry!" Athos said, handing him his phone.

Aramis gave him a pale smile. "You have your wish: I'll never play Weird Al around you again!"

Athos sighed. "You can play as much Weird Al as you want, Aramis." He reached to see what was under the ice pack on Aramis' head and found a large bump forming.

Aramis flinched and closed his eyes with a groan.

"Hospital?" Porthos asked.

"Definitely," said Athos.

Aramis sighed, eyes still closed. "My health insurance has a hundred-and-fifty dollar charge for the emergency room."

Athos shook his head. "Forget that, I'll pay it." With that, he hurried back into the driver's seat, looking into the rearview mirror as he shifted into gear.

Aramis was looking at his phone, wincing but smiling at the same time.

Athos wondered what he was doing for all of three seconds before music suddenly came out of the phone.

"Like a surgeon, cuttin' for the very first time! Like a suuuuuuurgeon..."

Athos shot Aramis a look of, 'Really?'

Aramis smiled, wincing when Porthos adjusted his grip on the ice pack. "I thought it was fitting!"

THE END  
Most of Weird Al's songs are awesome; just sayin'. LOL!


	6. Movie

**The theme for this Saturday Story was to put them in a movie! I decided to use a scene from one of the best movies ever: 'The Princess Bride', with Treville as Vizinni, Aramis as Inigo, Porthos as Fezzik, and Athos as Westley!**

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"He didn't fall? Inconceivable!"

Aramis looked at Treville. "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." He looked back down the cliff with surprise as they watched the man who was halfway up. "He's climbing!"

Treville shook his head. "Whoever he is, he's obviously seen us with the girl and must therefore die." He looked at Porthos. "You carry her. We'll head straight for the Grimaud frontier."

Porthos nodded and picked up the blindfolded and tied-up woman.

Treville looked at Aramis. "Catch up when he's dead. If he falls, fine. If not: the sword."

Aramis nodded. "I'm going to duel him left-handed."

"You know what a hurry we're in!" Treville exclaimed.

"It's the only way l can be satisfied," said Aramis. "lf I use my right, tsk; over too quickly."

"Oh, have it your way!" Treville exclaimed, turning away from the cliff.

"You be careful," Porthos told Aramis. "People in masks cannot be trusted."

"I'm waiting!" Treville exclaimed.

Porthos followed and they and the kidnapped princess left Aramis behind, who swordlessly practiced a few moves before looking down the cliff. "Hello there! Slow going?"

Athos glanced up the cliff with irritation."I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me."

Aramis nodded. "Sorry."

"Thank you," Athos answered, before again attempting to climb.

Aramis drew his sword and practiced a few more moves before again looking down the cliff. "I do not suppose you could speed things up?"

Athos sighed. "If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do."

"I could do that," said Aramis. "I've got some rope up here, but l do not think you would accept my help since l am only waiting around to kill you."

"That _does_ put a damper on our relationship," Athos called up.

"But l promise l won't kill you until you reach the top," said Aramis.

Athos looked up. "That's very comforting, but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait."

"I hate waiting," Aramis muttered, turning away. He suddenly thought of something and turned back. "I could give you my word as a Spaniard."

"No good," Athos answered, struggling to climb and realizing why they called it the Cliffs of Insanity. "I've known too many Spaniards."

"As a Frenchman then, on my father's side?" Aramis asked.

"I'm French also, I know _exactly_ how we are."

"Any way you'll trust me?" called Aramis.

"Nothing comes to mind," Athos answered, still trying to climb.

"I swear on the soul of my father, Monsieur D'Herblay," said Aramis. "You will reach the top alive."

Athos paused. "Throw me the rope."

Aramis grabbed the rope and tossed it over the cliff, pulling it and helping Athos climb up.

"Thank you," Athos said, breathing heavily as he started to unsheathe his sword.

"Waitwaitwaitwait," said Aramis. "We'll wait until you're ready."

Athos was surprised. "Again, thank you." He sat on a boulder to catch his breath and removed his right boot. Turning it over, he watched as five rocks fell out.

"I do not mean to pry," said Aramis. "But you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?"

Athos blinked at the bizarre question. "Do you _always_ begin conversations this way?"

"My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man," Aramis explained.

Athos wordlessly raised his gloved right hand to display his four fingers and thumb.

Aramis nodded. "My father made brandy and swords for a living. When the six-fingered man appeared and requested a special sword, my father took the job." He stood and brought his sword over to Athos, holding it out for him to see. "He slaved a year before he was done."

Athos took it and was amazed at the craftsmanship. "I've never seen its equal."

Aramis nodded as he took it back. "The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but at a tenth of his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart. I loved my father; so naturally, I challenged his murderer to a duel." He sighed. "I failed. The six-fingered man left me alive, but he gave me this." He pointed to a scar on his forehead.

"How old were you?" Aramis asked.

"I was eleven years old," Athos said. "When l was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will _not_ fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say: Hello; my name is Aramis D'Herblay. You killed my father; prepare to die."

"You've done nothing but study swordplay?" Athos asked.

Aramis shrugged and sat down next to him as if they were friends, and not two men who were about to have a duel to the death. "More _pursuit_ than study lately. You see, l cannot find him. It's been twenty years now; I'm starting to lose confidence. I just work for Treville to pay the bills; there's not a lot of money in revenge."

They were silent for a moment before Athos stood. "I certainly hope you find him someday."

"You're ready, then?" said Aramis.

"Whether l am or not, you've been more than fair," Athos told him.

Aramis stood and drew his sword. "You seem a decent fellow, I hate to kill you."

" _You_ seem a decent fellow," Athos replied. "I hate to die."

Aramis nodded. "Begin." With that, he made the first move. They each stuck and Athos sliced the air before Aramis' face. He ducked and they both shifted in a half-circle before repeating the moves, with Aramis slicing the air in front of Athos that time. After that, they attacked in earnest, expertly trading blows and appearing to be evenly matched.

Aramis quickly recognized Athos' fighting style. "You are using 'Bonnaire´s Defense' against me?"

"I thought it fitting considering the rocky terrain," Athos replied, walking backwards up the rocks as they fought.

"Naturally," said Aramis, as they climbed higher and higher. "You must expect me to attack with 'Capo Louis'."

"Naturally, but l find that 'Richelieu' cancels out 'Capo Louis'," said Athos. "Don't you?"

Aramis swished his sword sideways across Athos' stomach, but he missed when Athos jumped backwards and landed on his feet at the base of the rocks.

"Unless the enemy has studied 'Rochefort'," said Aramis. He ran and jumped, flipping over Athos' head and landing on his feet behind him. "Which l have!"

Athos attacked and they continued to trade blows.

"You are wonderful!" Aramis exclaimed.

"Thank you," said Athos. "I've worked hard to become so!"

"I admit it," said Aramis. "You are better than I am."

"Then why are you smiling?" Athos asked.

"Because I know something you don't know," said Aramis.

"What is that?"

"I am not left-handed!" With that, Aramis smoothly transferred his sword to his right hand and seamlessly continued the fight as they climbed steep stone steps.

"You're amazing!" said Athos.

"I ought to be after twenty years," said Aramis. He appeared to gain the upper hand for a moment when he pinned Athos' sword down and they struggled against a pile of stone that shifted under Athos' weight.

"There's something…I ought to tell you…" said Athos, struggling to get his sword out from under Aramis'.

"Tell me," said Aramis.

"I'm not left-handed, either." With that, he pushed Aramis back and transferred his sword to his right hand, slashing the air and getting back into position. He attacked again and sent Aramis' sword flying through the air.

Aramis looked at him in shock before heading down two of the steps and jumping to grab onto a horizontal vine between two pillars. He swung himself down and grabbed his sword, turning to look at Athos.

Still at the top of the stone steps, Athos flicked his sword so that it flew hilt over tip and landed upright in a small area of brush. With that, he jumped onto the vine and swung himself around it like an acrobat, landing perfectly on his feet right next to his sword.

"Who _are_ you?" Aramis asked, in awe.

"No one of consequence," Athos answered.

"I _must_ know!" said Aramis.

"Get used to disappointment," said Athos.

Aramis shrugged and they attacked again. Athos sliced his sword low and Aramis jumped over it before running up onto the rocks again and turning to meet Athos' attack. They traded blows until Athos again knocked Aramis' sword out of his hand, where it flew into the air above them. Aramis climbed over the rocks behind himself before looking up and catching his sword by the hilt. They fought down the steps once more until Athos distracted Aramis by slicing into his hair and then knocking the sword from his hand.

It was obvious that the fight was over, and Aramis knelt. "Kill me quickly."

Athos circled him. "I would sooner destroy a stained-glass window, as an artist like yourself. However, since l can't have you following me, either…" He hit Aramis on the back of his head with the hilt of his sword and watched as he fell to the ground unconscious. "Please understand, l hold you in the highest respect." With that, he ran off to rescue his love, Anne de Breuil.

THE END  
After this, I bet you'll never see the 'Princess Bride' scene the same way ever again!


	7. TV Show

Saturday Story: Put our musketeers in another show!  
I chose 'Galavant', which was a hilarious parody...I hope you all watched it. LOL! Look on youtube for a clip of the 'Galavant' theme song and imagine my opening and ending songs to the tune. LOL

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Way back in days of old!  
There were three men so bold!  
Everyone called them 'The Inseparables'!  
They were four musketeers!  
Who had such perfect beards!  
And awesome leather cloth to clothe their bodies!  
And! They somehow ended up in the wrong show and they don't know how though  
And so! You're probably saying 'wow!' We'll see what happens now! The what the where and how, they ended up in Gaaaaaaaalaaaaaaavannnnnnt!

Porthos blinked up at the bright blue sky, wondering when they'd stopped for a nap. He didn't remember stopping…all he recalled was being attacked by thieves and Aramis getting hit on the head with a pistol. He sat up with a jolt and saw Athos and d'Artagnan likewise groggily waking and looking around with Aramis lying unconscious beside him.

"Where are we?" d'Artagnan asked.

"No idea," said Porthos, putting a hand on Aramis' shoulder and gently shaking him. "Aramis?"

No reply.

Athos stood and crossed over to them before spinning in a slow circle as he looked around. The scenery was a wide-open field with trees on either side, and nothing looked familiar.

"Wherever we are, our horses didn't come with us," d'Artagnan noticed. "Which way is Paris from here? I can't tell."

Athos sighed and knelt on Aramis' other side. "Sit down; there's nothing we can do until Aramis wakes."

D'Artagnan obeyed.

It wasn't long before Aramis suddenly moved his head with a wince. They watched him blink his eyes open and stare at them blankly.

"Are you all right?" Porthos asked.

Aramis groaned, and instead of answering, asked, "Where are we?"

"I wish we could answer that," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis pulled up a hand to cover his eyes with another wince. "What happened?"

"We were attacked and you took a pistol to the head," said Athos.

"After that, we all woke up _here_ ," said Porthos. "But we don't know where 'here' is."

Aramis moved his hand away from his eyes. "You were all knocked unconscious?"

"It was more like a nap," said d'Artagnan. "I feel fine."

Athos nodded. "I have suffered no ill effects. Porthos?"

"Fine here too, no pain or nuthin'."

Aramis put a hand over his eyes again. "While I'm glad to hear that of you all, _I_ can't say the same." By the blurred vision, dizziness, and terrible headache, he knew that he had a concussion.

"We gotta get back to the garrison," Porthos said unnecessarily.

Once Aramis felt capable of moving, they started to walk. They weren't sure which direction to go in, until d'Artagnan spotted a post with a sign on it. Assuming that it pointed the way back to Paris, they headed towards it, with Porthos supporting Aramis.

As they got closer to the sign, d'Artagnan frowned. "That doesn't say 'Paris'." He jogged ahead and frowned at what he read. "Valencia?" He turned to look at the others. "It points the way to 'Valencia'."

Athos frowned. There was no city in France with such a name.

"Maybe it's the name of a village that we don't know of," said Porthos. "Either way, we gotta get Aramis _somewhere_."

Everyone looked to their injured friend, to see him slumped in Porthos' grasp.

"Valencia it is," said Athos. With that, they headed into the woods.

Aramis grew weaker as they walked, and they had to stop to give him a rest. Porthos gently lowered him to sit against a tree, crouching beside him.

"If only we had our horses!" d'Artagnan exclaimed with frustration.

A sudden _*neigh*_ sounded, and d'Artagnan turned to see all four of their steeds standing nearby. He smiled and headed over to his own, petting his nose.

Athos looked on with surprise; they had _not_ been there a moment ago. He walked towards them himself and he and d'Artagnan brought them over.

" _That_ was unexpected," said Porthos. "Hey Aramis, you don't have to walk anymore."

Aramis, his head pounding, opened his eyes and gave a small sigh of relief.

D'Artagnan searched each horse for their packs, but they were missing. "I'd be great if we had some water," he said. A second later, he noticed a well standing to their left. He walked over to it and looked inside before cranking the bucket down. He pulled it up again full of fresh, cool water and brought it over to the others. "What are the chances we'd stop next to a well?" he asked, kneeling to let Aramis drink first.

Porthos was surprised. "I didn't see it there until just now."

Athos frowned. He hadn't seen it either.

Aramis drank the water, wishing that things made sense. He felt a little better after drinking, and they again pulled him upright and got him mounted on Porthos' horse.

"Which way do we go?" d'Artagnan asked Athos. "I wish someone could tell us where we are."

Suddenly, voices came from behind them and they turned to see three people riding…on one horse.

"I'm telling you that Tad Cooper is a dragon!" one of them were saying. "Look at this face! How can you deny him his future greatness?!"

"Just because you're the king doesn't mean that you can command a lizard to be a dragon!" said the man sitting in front of him. "It's a lizard, Richard, and we're going to eat it!"

King Richard shoved the 'dragon' into his shirt. "Over my dead body!"

A woman was sitting behind them both, and she shook her head while glancing up at the sky as if to say 'why me?'

"Oh, look! People!" the dragon-bearer exclaimed. "Galavant, people! Maybe they'll join your quest!"

"I see them!" Galavant answered. He rode closer and looked at the musketeers. "Hello, I'm Sir Galavant. Who might I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Athos hesitated for a second before saying, "We are Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan. Can you please tell us where we are?"

"Didn't you see the sign?" King Richard exclaimed.

Abruptly, a huge wooden sign appeared before their eyes that read, 'The Forest of Coincidence'.

King Richard laughed. "There, you see? The Forest of Coincidence!"

The musketeers didn't know what to make of it.

"It appears that the four of you are out of your depth," Galavant said. "Allow me to present you with an option that you have not yet considered; I am forming an army to rescue my love, Princess Isabella, from a ridiculous life married to her nine-year-old-cousin. Will you join me?"

The musketeers—minus Aramis, who couldn't turn his head without getting dizzy—looked at each other as if unsure that they'd heard correctly.

"We need to get our injured friend home," said Porthos.

Galavant looked at Aramis. "Ah, true. Well, you can drop him off and _then_ join me!"

"Never happen!" Porthos growled ferociously.

Galavant realized that he might be forfeiting his life if he asked again, so he said. "Right. Well. Enjoy your ride home." With that, he kicked the horse in the belly and rode off.

The musketeers watched them go, amazed to see that the horse was managing to carry three people on it.

"The Forest of Coincidence," Athos suddenly said. He looked at the others and said, "If only the four of us were home in the garrison."

Just like that, they vanished and reappeared right where they needed to be.

"That was brilliant, Athos!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, quickly getting down. "How are we going to explain this to the captain?"

"Simple," Athos said as he dismounted. "We don't."

"He'll never believe us."

"What was that, Aramis?"

Aramis opened his eyes to find himself lying in his bed; he didn't remember how he got there. "The captain," he mumbled. "He won't believe the story."

"What story?" asked d'Artagnan, from the other side of the bed.

Aramis raised a hand to his aching head and closed his eyes again, wincing as he remained silent for a moment. "About the…Forest of Coincidence."

"The what?" Athos asked.

Aramis reopened his eyes. "The forest we were in before we got back."

The others exchanged glances.

"We have been nowhere but here since you were struck," Athos told him.

Aramis stared at him in shock before trying to sit up. His friends all latched on to him and held him down to the bed.

"What're you doin?!" Porthos exclaimed.

"You're trying to tell me that we didn't end up near a place called 'Valencia'?" Aramis asked. "Where we encountered three people on one horse, one of which was King Richard who had a lizard that he called a dragon?"

Each of the others opened their mouths to answer, but Aramis cut them off before they had a chance.

"We were in the Forest of Coincidence, where if we wished for something it 'coincidentally' happened," Aramis told them. "Athos, once you figured it out, you wished that we were home and we appeared in the garrison!"

Athos shook his head. "None of that happened, Aramis."

"Sounds like quite the dream," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis put a hand over his eyes again. "It felt so real!" He peeked out from under his hand with one eye. "Are you sure?"

"It didn't happen, Aramis," said Porthos. "It's the head injury that caused it."

"Just rest," said Athos. "You'll be fine."

Aramis stared at them all for a moment before closing his eyes against his headache. He felt someone lay a cold, wet cloth across his forehead which felt so good that he fell asleep.

The other three exchanged glances.

"I think we have a new mission in life," said Porthos. "We can never let Aramis get whacked on the head ever again."

Well this is it, you see!  
Aramis plus the three!  
Never did end up there in Galavant!  
He had a crazy dream!  
And boy it was a scream!  
He's glad they never were in Galavant!  
And! He knows that it's not possible to see the things he thought he saw  
And so! Louis' still on the throne! Paris will stay their home! No I did not say 'Rome'! They'll never be in Gaaaaaaaalaaaaaaaavaaaaant!

THE END


	8. Book

Saturday Story: Musketeers in a Book

Since 'The Three Musketeers' is my fav book, I was at a loss of what to use…and then this silly idea came to me. Go ahead and laugh, I am too!

Aramis had never been more confused in his entire life. For some reason, he was standing alone in the middle of nowhere, with giant pieces of parchment on either side of him. They contained colored drawings of cats, and he looked around for his friends, not understanding how he'd come to be there and where the others were.

"Porthos!" he called. "Athos? D'Artagnan!"

No voices answered him, and he started to walk, looking at each piece of parchment for possible clues as he wondered where on earth they had come from.

"Things that I love," Aramis read on one of them. He frowned at the sight of a fat gray cat playing an instrument that appeared to be similar to a harpsichord. "Music," he read. The next picture showed the cat with a strange-looking meal, happily drinking something through a long, thin object. "Food," he read. The next picture showed some objects that Aramis was unable to recognize except for a mouse. "Friends?" he asked before moving onto the next one. The fat cat was sitting with a smaller cat, and the word with them was 'family'. It made Aramis smile, and the next one showed the fat cat dozing. "Sleep." He chuckled. "I think _I_ need the same." The last picture confused him more than the others: it showed a strange object that he couldn't even begin to describe, with the word 'internet'. Aramis didn't even try to figure that one out, and he turned to look at the sign on the other side of himself.

"If I was tiny, I would bathe in a teacup," it read. The picture of the fat cat in the cup made him smile, and he walked to the next one. "My Daily Routine," he read. It showed the cat sleeping its back. "Wake up." Under it showed the cat wearing some kind of dark spectacles. "Be…awesome?" The picture below it said "Go back to sleep," and showed the cat dozing again.

Aramis laughed and moved on, wondering why he was alone and wishing that the others were there to see this. The next one showed the cat upside down on her back again. "So lazy, can't move." Aramis laughed again and walked on, seeing the smaller cat lying on her side with the words, "I just want to hug everyone in the world."

Aramis looked to see how many more of these strange pictures there were, and saw that they went on forever. He was aware that they couldn't possibly exist and that he was obviously not in Paris, but he wasn't afraid.

"Places that cats belong," Aramis read. It showed the fat cat in a sink with the word 'no', the smaller cat in a shoe with 'no', both of them sitting at a table with 'no', the two of them in a bag with 'no'…and then both of them sitting on some kid of odd cart that had wheels but no horses pulling it with the words, 'this thing'? The final picture showed them riding the strange object with the drawing of a heart around it and had the words, 'your heart: yes'.

Aramis smiled even as he shook his head at the oddity of it all. He continued to walk and read each page. "How to make a muffin?" He shook his head at the pictures. "You will need a bowl. Get in that bowl. Nice work." He chuckled again and looked around for his friends, still seeing no one in sight. He looked up at the cat in the bowl and said, "I don't know who you are, but I wish you could tell me where I am, and where my friends are." With a sigh, he moved to the next one. "Don't forget to shed on everything." He chuckled again and sat on a large rock. "I'll keep that in mind." Leaning his elbows on his knees, Aramis found himself looking at the parchment on the other side of the path. "I am Pusheen the Cat," he read. "So that's your name. Nice to meet you."

"Pusheen?! What kind of name is _that?!_ "

Aramis suddenly found himself blinking his vision into focus as a hand suddenly appeared holding a cloth that was swiped across his forehead and face. "What?" he asked, confused.

"He's awake!" d'Artagnan's voice exclaimed.

Three faces suddenly swam into view, and Aramis kept blinking, feeling incredibly tired. "What happened?" he asked.

"Your wound grew infected," Athos told him. "You've been delirious with fever all day."

Aramis frowned and looked around, finding no path with the cat-parchments.

"You've been babbling about a cat," Porthos said. "And sayin' weird things like 'wake up, be awesome, go back to sleep'!"

Aramis was slightly embarrassed.

"You called for us a few times, even though we were right here," said d'Artagnan, looking obviously troubled.

Aramis sighed and reached up his right hand to cover his eyes, making sure not to move his left arm where the infected bullet graze was. "I found myself walking down a path with pieces of parchment standing on either side. They never ended, and were covered with pictures of a cat."

"Pusheen," Athos supplied.

Aramis nodded. "Yes." His eyes drifted closed and he had to forcefully reopen them.

Athos felt his friend's forehead before replacing the cloth. "Your fever is lower. Sleep."

"Dream of Pusheen!" Porthos said with a laugh.

Aramis smiled slightly before closing his eyes. His fevered state had him wondering the smaller fluffy cat's name, and as he fell asleep, he found himself standing before the parchment again. This one showed the smaller cat looking at an object with feathers on it. "Look Stormy, a new toy," he read. The picture under it showed the cat frowning, with feathers everywhere. The caption for that one said, "Five minutes later."

Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan were surprised when a sudden chuckle came from their sick friend.

"May his dreams always be good," Porthos whispered.

"Here, here," the others agreed.

THE END

So yeah all those 'signs' were pages of the book 'I Am Pusheen the Cat' lol! Don't blame me, I'm not the one who came up with this theme! LOL I promise that next week's theme is normal!


	9. Food

.

My Saturday Story for the prompt: Food

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Aramis was exhausted. The four musketeers had been on a mission where they'd had to split into pairs, with he and d'Artagnan together. It was the first anniversary of d'Artagnan's father's death, and it had been mutually decided for the two of them to go one way while Athos and Porthos went the other. It was no contest that Aramis had the most openly-sympathetic demeanor, and they knew that if d'Artagnan wanted to talk, it would be with him. They were right, and d'Artagnan did, long into the previous night, with Aramis gladly lending his ear.

The four of them were to meet up at an inn on the third night, and Aramis and d'Artagnan arrived first, despite their exhaustion. They paid for the night before sitting, ordering wine, and waiting for their friends to arrive.

The barmaids couldn't stop staring at Aramis, but he was too tired to flirt. One of the women was very bold, and the tiredly-blinking Aramis suddenly found her sitting on his lap. "My my," she said. "You are a handsome one."

Aramis smiled. "So I've been told."

She smiled back. "I am Angelique."

"I am Aramis."

She giggled and took something off the tray that she'd been carrying. "You deserve a special treat." She held a pastry to his lips.

Aramis smiled again. "I haven't had dinner yet."

"It's never too early for dessert," Angelique purred.

Aramis was too tired to argue and obediently ate it while d'Artagnan watched with amusement. After Aramis swallowed, she grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

"Wench! Where's my dessert!" someone exclaimed.

Angelique pulled away from Aramis. "You just had the last one," she whispered, before getting off his lap. "I'll bring you our chicken dinner, it's to die for."

"Enough for four of us, please," said Aramis.

She nodded with a wink and sashayed away.

Aramis shook his head and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, removing crumbs and the woman's lip rouge from his face.

"You don't even have to _try_ ," said a smiling d'Artagnan.

Aramis nodded his head and yawned behind his hand. "It's not always convenient."

D'Artagnan chuckled.

Five minutes later, Athos and Porthos came in and sat down.

"It's about time," Aramis said with another yawn. "We were about to eat without you."

Porthos laughed. "Never happen: if there's food, I'm here!"

Aramis smiled. "Both of you healthy? No injuries?"

"Of course," said Athos. "The two of you?"

Aramis nodded. "We're fine."

The four musketeers told each other their stories, and Aramis suddenly started coughing.

"You all right?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded and sipped his wine.

The food eventually came and they ate mostly in silence, but Aramis kept coughing.

"Did you choke on somethin' before we got here?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "No," he croaked, coughing again.

"Aramis," Athos suddenly said. "You _did_ ensure that there was no lemongrass* in the food?"

"Of course," Aramis said, before realization hit him: between his exhaustion, the barmaid, and d'Artagnan's thoughts still on his father, neither of them had thought to ask.

Aramis and d'Artagnan looked at each other in shock, and as if the lemongrass had been waiting to be named, Aramis suddenly was unable to inhale. He dropped his fork and his hands reached for his throat.

"Porthos!" Athos exclaimed.

"Got it!" Porthos said, jumping to his feet to dig the small bottle of medicine that he always carried with them out of his pocket. He yanked on it too hard and it fell from his hand to shatter on the floor. "No!" he exclaimed.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos said. "Go get one of the others!"

Quickly, d'Artagnan leaped to his feet and ran out the door.

Porthos grabbed Aramis by the shoulders. "Breathe, Aramis! D'Artagnan will be right back!"

Aramis' eyes were opened wide as he fought for air, wheezing gasps the only thing passing his throat.

Other people in the tavern were watching nervously, and Angelique hurried over.

"Is he choking?!" she asked.

"Is lemongrass in the food?" Athos shot back.

"I don't know!"

"Find out!" Athos told her.

Without another word, she ran into the kitchen.

"It has to be lemongrass, Athos!" said Porthos, pulling Aramis into his arms and reclining him back.

"We need to be sure," Athos said. "If something _else_ is causing the same reaction, then we need to know what it is." He pried Aramis' hands away from his throat and squeezed one of them, watching as every bit of color drained from their friend's face. "Be calm, be calm," he said.

Aramis was trying, but his throat was nearly closed and it felt as if an elephant was sitting on his chest.

"Where's d'Artagnan?!" Porthos shouted.

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Running as fast as he could, d'Artagnan had burst out of the tavern and nearly ran a drunken man over as he headed for the stable. When he went inside, he found that the stable boy had already removed the packs from their horses. "Where did you put them?!" he shouted.

"I already brought them inside and put them in your room!" said the stunned boy.

D'Artagnan gave a cry of dismay and ran back out, flying back into the tavern and up the stairs before throwing the door open and flinging himself to the floor beside the packs. He pulled one open before realizing that it was Porthos' and flung it aside. The bottle he ended up with was his own, and he ran back down the stairs with it.

Porthos was inwardly panicking as he watched his friend struggling to breathe. He looked up when he heard d'Artagnan coming, and watched as Athos grabbed the bottle from him and poured some into a cup. "It's here, Aramis, it's here!"

"Drink!" said Athos, holding the cup to Aramis' lips.

As always, swallowing was very difficult with a swollen throat, and it took three tries before Aramis managed to get any down.

"Good," said Athos. "Again!"

The second attempt kept failing, with the liquid spilling from his mouth rather than going down. Aramis' lips were turning blue as he grew weak from lack of oxygen, and his eyes closed as he started to lose consciousness.

"Don't you dare!" Porthos exclaimed, giving his face a slap.

Aramis' eyes flew open with surprise, and Athos poured the medicine into his mouth before putting his hand on Aramis' throat and rubbing up and down in a desperate attempt to help him swallow.

To everyone's relief, it worked.

D'Artagnan dropped onto a chair, legs shaking first with fear and then with relief.

The three of them—plus everyone else in the tavern—watched fearfully, each person desperate to see the handsome musketeer breathe normally again.

The barmaid stood there with tears streaming down her face, and Athos finally noticed that she'd returned. "Lemongrass?"

Angelique nodded her head. "Yes. It was used to flavor the pastry _and_ the chicken."

Athos didn't know what pastry she spoke of, but d'Artagnan did.

"It wasn't your fault," he told her. "You couldn't have known."

Angelique said nothing more, and they watched as Aramis continued his struggle to breathe. When it became obvious that air was finally getting in and that Aramis would live, the other diners started to clap their hands, applauding the others for their amazing feat in saving their friend's life.

Aramis closed his eyes, too drained to keep them open any longer.

Porthos waited until some of the awful blue color left Aramis' lips before he shoved his other arm under his friend's knees and lifted him. He carried him upstairs and laid him on one of the beds, where the three of them worked together to get Aramis' weapon belts, jacket, and boots off.

Through it all, Aramis lay limply with his eyes closed, his breath wheezing through the small opening in his throat as the swelling slowly receded.

Once they had their friend comfortable, they dragged chairs over to the bed. Porthos leaned both elbows on the mattress and grabbed Aramis' hand. "He's like ice," he commented, rubbing the hand between both of his own to warm it.

Athos stood and pulled the blanket at the end of the bed over Aramis while d'Artagnan went to light the fire.

Porthos sat on the bed and reached over for Aramis' other hand, rubbing warmth into it before tucking it under the blanket and pulling it up to his chin.

Aramis' eyes remained closed as he concentrated on breathing. He was doing better, but was nowhere-near fine.

Athos and Porthos raised Aramis up a little to make his breathing easier, and everyone sat staring at him.

D'Artagnan couldn't handle the waiting. "Aramis?" he said.

Slowly, Aramis opened his eyes and looked at them, giving a nod to tell them that he was all right. He kept his eyes open and gave a little cough before wincing.

"Hey, none of that, now," said Porthos.

Athos looked at d'Artagnan. "Water," he said.

D'Artagnan jumped up and quickly headed downstairs to fetch it.

"How is he?" the barmaid asked, still looking distraught.

"Getting better," d'Artagnan told her. He knew that she wanted to hear more, but there was no time as he took the pitcher and a cup and hurried back up the stairs, pouring it as he went.

Athos took the cup from him and Porthos held onto Aramis as they helped him slowly drink it. He had to keep pausing to breathe, and the pallor of his skin was frightening, though it was a relief to see that his lips were no longer blue.

A few minutes later, Aramis suddenly spoke. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

The others were shocked. "Why?" said Porthos.

"Didn't ask," Aramis told them, using as few words as possible.

"It's _my_ fault," said d'Artagnan, sadly. "I kept Aramis up talking every night, he was exhausted when we arrived, and then the barmaid..."

Porthos gave a brief chuckle. "Not _too_ exhausted, then!"

"She set her sights on _him_ ," said d'Artagnan. "Was sitting on his lap before either of us had a chance to blink. She fed him a pastry, told us she'd get us the chicken, and that was that. We didn't place an order, so I guess it threw us off so that we didn't ask if there was lemongrass." He sighed. "My mind was elsewhere and it didn't even occur to me to ask when Aramis didn't."

"Thought I asked," said Aramis.

"Still," said d'Artagnan "I've seen what lemongrass does to you, Aramis, and it's my responsibility to look out for you just as you look out for me. I'm so sorry."

Aramis shook his head. "It's fine," he whispered, before coughing again.

"Quiet," Porthos scolded, pouring more water and holding the cup to his lips again. "It's my turn to apologize, anyway. I can't believe I dropped the bottle!" In dismay, he put one hand over his face.

Athos sighed and took the cup before Porthos spilled it on their ill friend. "We all need to be extra vigilant. This is very serious, as we all know, and it only takes one mistake to accidentally cause extreme harm."

Porthos and d'Artagnan each looked devastated at their part in the situation.

"I'm fine," Aramis whispered, his wheeze and scratchy, soft voice contradicting him. He was still extremely pale and his exhaustion was obvious.

"No you aren't," said Athos. "Sleep."

Aramis closed his eyes and was out within minutes, making the others realize that he'd been keeping himself awake to allay their fear over his condition.

"You should get some sleep too," Porthos said to d'Artagnan, knowing that he was also tired. "It's gonna be a long night."

Aramis slept soundly for a few hours, his breathing raspy and wheezy as the swelling in his throat lessened very slowly. When he woke, he started to cough, which wasn't surprising to anyone. They gave him more water and he fell back to sleep. The cycle continued through the night; Aramis couldn't sleep for more than two or three hours at a time without his throat waking him.

When breakfast time came, Aramis was asleep and Porthos went to get food. He went right into the kitchen and drilled the cook to make sure there was no possible exposure to lemongrass in Aramis' food. He brought him porridge, as it would be easy to swallow.

When Aramis woke, he looked somewhat better; not quite as pale and more alert. His breathing was easier and not as wheezy, though his voice was still scratchy. He obediently ate his porridge, before asking when they planned to leave.

"You need to rest today," Athos told him.

Aramis shook his head. "I can travel."

"You're still tired," said Porthos. "We can see it."

"Treville's expecting us," Aramis countered.

It wasn't lost on anyone that Aramis was composing sentences of few words.

"You're still not breathing correctly," said d'Artagnan.

"We're _riding_ ," said Aramis. "Not walking."

In the end, they agreed to leave after lunch, making Aramis stay in bed until then. Porthos again hand-selected Aramis' food carefully, and they helped him dress after they ate, noting that he coughed more from the exertion.

Finally, it was time to go, and Porthos kept an iron grip on Aramis' arm as they slowly descended the stairs.

Angelique saw them, and she quickly hurried over. "I am so sorry!" she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug.

Aramis wrapped his arms around her. "You didn't know."

She sniffed, and Aramis waited for her to pull away before he did the same.

"You'll come back the next time you pass by?" Angelique asked.

Aramis nodded. "Hide the lemongrass."

She gave him a sad little smile, and they left.

The horses were saddled and ready, and Porthos helped Aramis mount. Once seated, the others all looked at him from atop their own steeds.

"All right?" Athos asked.

Aramis nodded. "Fine."

Athos nodded back and they resumed their journey home.

As they rode, Aramis suddenly remembered what Angelique had said about the chicken: it was 'to die for'. Shaking his head at the irony, Aramis looked up at the bright blue sky and thanked God that her words had not proven prophetic.

THE END

*Aramis is obviously deathly allergic to lemongrass, as stated in my stories 'Hidden Danger' story ID 12152923, and 'No Safe Place to Breathe' story ID 12508485.


	10. Dream

.

The theme for this Saturday Story was 'dream'. Boy did I have fun with this one!

 **NEVER AGAIN**

Rochefort and Athos drew their swords, circling each other menacingly for a moment before Rochefort attacked. The fight was wild and Athos eventually moved to disarm him...but his own sword went flying instead.

Before Rochefort could strike, Aramis jumped in front of Athos and parried Rochefort's sword, driving him back away from his friend with a ferocity not often seen on his handsome face. Aramis was off-duty after a heavy blood loss from being shot in the leg, and sweat quickly broke out on his body.

Noticing that, Rochefort quickly took advantage and suddenly reversed direction, driving Aramis back instead.

The move was too quick for Aramis in his weakened state and he lost his balance on his bad leg, landing on his rear-end with a thud.

Rochefort stood over him with the tip of his sword to Aramis' throat, before suddenly sheathing it and reaching down to pull him to his feet. "Forgive me; causing you to fall was not my intention."

Aramis sighed with a wince once upright, dizzily leaning against him to keep his weight off his wounded leg. "It's fine," he replied, breathing heavily. "I needed the exercise."

Rochefort wrapped an arm around Aramis' back to help him limp over to the table and sat him down, as Athos returned from retrieving his sword and Porthos and d'Artagnan came out of the kitchen with wine and food.

Rochefort dusted himself off, brushing his hand over his musketeer pauldron before sitting beside Aramis and taking the cup of wine that Athos handed him. The five men saluted each other as they drank.

With a start, Rochefort opened his eyes and found himself lying in his bed. Sitting up with a frown, he realized that he'd been dreaming, and placed a hand over his eyes. "I will NEVER add port to hot chocolate again for as long as I live."

THE END


	11. Sequel to 'Dream'

.

The theme for this one was 'sequel', so I wrote one to Rochefort's dream of last week, where he was a musketeer and was nice(?!) to Aramis.

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Rochefort couldn't get the bizarre dream out of his head all morning. Why on earth would he dream that he was a musketeer of all things, friend to Aramis, who he hated?! He shuddered at the thought as he breakfasted with the king and tried to keep the morning's activities on his mind instead. They were soon to be in public—which Rochefort thought was a terrible idea—but the queen had suggested that she and the king take a day to show an interest in the people by making an appearance to them. The king had agreed, and naturally, his four best musketeers were to be their bodyguards.

Rochefort was _not_ interested in seeing Aramis, but of course he was the musketeer walking closest to them with his pistol drawn. The whole city knew that he was the best marksman in France; no one was more trusted to never miss a shot.

When danger struck—as Rochefort had a feeling it would—Aramis was the first one to see it.

"Get down!" Aramis suddenly exclaimed, throwing himself in front of the king and queen and raising his pistol. Two shots were heard at the same time, and Aramis gave a cry of pain and fell to the ground just as a body seemingly dropped from the sky.

Mayhem ensued as the people of Paris scattered, screaming as they ran. The monarchs were whisked away as well as Rochefort, pushed into a nearby carriage and driven back towards the palace. He looked out the window to see the other three musketeers kneeling around Aramis, who was sitting up and wincing as Porthos put pressure on the gunshot wound to his right leg. Rochefort was surprised at the sight; what were the chances that Aramis would be shot in the leg the day after he had dreamed the same thing? It was quite the coincidence.

"He saved your life!" Queen Anne suddenly exclaimed to Louis. "He took a shot that was meant for you!"

"Or perhaps for _you!_ " said the king, breathing heavily with fear. "And he killed the assassin!"

"An amazing feat," said the queen, looking at Rochefort.

Rochefort was obligated to agree with her. "Amazing indeed," he said. While inwardly, he was glad that his musketeer enemy had been wounded, he certainly couldn't deny that Aramis' incredible skill had not only saved the king that day…but also Rochefort's secret love, the queen.

THE END


	12. Spy

.

Saturday Story: Spy Edition

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"D'Herblay; Aramis d'Herblay."

"De la Fere; Athos De la Fere."

"DuVallon; Porthos DuVallon."

"D'Artagnan, Charles d'Artagnan."

"None of us sound like we have spy names."

"We'll just use numbers then. Aramis: 007."

"I wanted to be 007!"

"Well I said it first!"

"You can be triple-zero!"

"Hey!"

All four men looked at each other in their matching suits and sunglasses, with each one holding a martini glass.

"I can't believe we all dressed exactly the same for this costume party!" said Porthos.

"I have the solution," said Athos. He plucked the martini glasses out of each of their hands and put them down. "We're now the Blues Brothers. We'll stop at my place for hats and your place for your harmonica," he told Porthos.

"There were _two_ Blues Brothers," said Aramis, picking up his martini glass. "You two can do that, and I'll be 007."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "Fine, then I'll be Remington Steele!"

Aramis' eyes shot up. "You're not old enough to know who Remington Steele is."

"Technically, _none_ of us are," d'Artagnan answered.

Aramis thought about that for a minute. "Touché," he said.

Athos shook his head. "Next time, you can all be The Three Stooges and I'll go as Cormoran Strike."

"What's a cormoran strike?" asked d'Artagnan.

Athos rolled his eyes as they headed out the door.

THE END


	13. Animal

.

Saturday Story theme: Animals

Enjoy!

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"Aramis?"

"Hmm?"

"Apparently, Bella won't come out of her stall. Do you feel up to investigating?"

Aramis lifted his hat from his eyes and looked up from where he sat at the outside table, leaning against the post at his back. He shielded his eyes from the sun, squinting against his headache. "She won't?"

Athos shook his head.

Aramis stood, not protesting when his friend took his arm as they walked. He was slowly recovering from a concussion and stab wound after the massacre in Savoy, and still grew unsteady at times. The weather was pleasantly warm, so his friends had coaxed him out of his room that day to enjoy it, even though the bright sunlight was proving to be too much for his head.

The stable boy stared at Aramis' horse from outside her stall and shrugged at Aramis as he came in.

"What's wrong, Bella?" Aramis said, reaching over to pet her nose.

Bella huffed.

Aramis walked into the stall and looked at her legs to make sure she wasn't injured in any way. As he stepped to the right, Bella suddenly neighed and turned. Aramis stopped and watched her, seeing her tail flickering in an agitated way. He followed her line of sight, and that's when he saw it.

There was a cat in the hay looking at them. There were a few cats that caught mice in the garrison, and this particular one was a beautiful calico named Gisèle that had grown noticeably fat lately.

Aramis crept closer, carefully kneeling with a wince and scratching her under the chin.

Athos was inwardly elated to see Aramis show interest in something. He'd been understandably depressed and withdrawn after Savoy, and was still struggling nearly two months later. "What's wrong with her?" Athos asked.

"Nothing," Aramis told him. "But this stall is about to be inhabited by kittens." He stiffly shifted to sit cross-legged, before saying, "Jacques, Bella will let you take her, now."

He was right; the stable boy led her out and she obediently followed.

Athos walked closer, hearing the cat's purr from where he stood. "You're staying in here?"

"Mmm hmm."

"What can you possibly do?" Athos asked. "Cats don't require help."

"You never know," said Aramis. "She's young and has no experience."

"Are you fit to play doctor?" Athos asked.

Aramis glanced up at him before looking back at the cat, who had shifted her position a little. "I'm fine."

Athos soundlessly sighed; that phrase was Aramis' favorite way to describe himself, whether it was true or not.

"Athos," Aramis suddenly said. "Look."

Athos obeyed, and was surprised to suddenly realize that there was now a tiny white spotted kitten in the hay. Gisèle started to lick it and it let loose with a tiny 'mew!'

Aramis looked up at Athos…and he was smiling.

Athos couldn't stop himself from smiling back, stunned to see him looking happy for the first time since before the massacre.

Stomping could suddenly be heard, and Athos turned to intercept Porthos before he could shatter the moment. He held up his finger in the 'shush' gesture and walked towards him.

"What's goin' on?" Porthos quietly asked.

"The calico is gracing Bella's stall with kittens," Athos told him.

"Right now?" Porthos asked.

"Yes," Athos replied. "And Porthos, Aramis _smiled_."

Porthos' eyes widened. He stepped closer very quietly and observed his friend as he sat on the ground, gently stroking Gisèle's fur as she licked a tiny ball of fluff. He could see the expression of delight on his friend's face, and he watched as Aramis suddenly pulled his hand away when the cat shifted again. A moment later, Aramis softly spoke.

"Good girl, you're doing just fine! It looks like Athos was right that you don't need help, but I'll stay with you just in case."

Both men stood and watched Aramis, quietly letting him experience this wonder undisturbed. They watched as their friend petted Gisèle while awaiting the appearance of each new kitten, and minutes later, something unexpected happened.

"Oooh, what are you waiting for?" Aramis suddenly muttered.

They watched as Aramis reached over and did something that they couldn't see, before he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and picked something up which he gently but vigorously rubbed. They both stepped closer when they saw that it was one of the kittens.

"Breathe," Aramis said. "Breathe!"

It apparently did, for Aramis stopped rubbing and watched it for a few seconds before he brought it against his chest, sighing with relief before laying it down for Gisèle to clean.

No further mishaps occured, and a half hour after the appearance of the first kitten, Aramis gently felt Gisèle stomach—wherever he could fit his fingers between nursing kittens—before smiling down at her. "Well done, _mama_ ," he said.

Porthos stepped closer. "It's over?"

Aramis glanced up at him. "Yes; she has five kittens."

Athos and Porthos stood behind him and watched as the contented mother nursed them. Two were calicos like herself, two were orange striped...and one was dark gray.

"Not hard to figure out who the father is," Porthos said.

Aramis chuckled, and the sound was a balm to Athos and Porthos' soul.

"What happened, before?" Porthos asked.

"She was still cleaning one of the orange ones and was too slow to see to the gray one," said Aramis. "Its sac didn't break, so I had to do it and force him to breathe."

Porthos clasped him by both shoulders and gave a fond squeeze. "Doctor Aramis!"

Aramis smiled and looked up at Athos. "So I was needed _after_ all."

Athos nodded. "You're _always_ needed, Aramis." It was something they'd been trying to tell him ever since the massacre, when Aramis kept asking himself why he'd been the only musketeer to return.

Aramis' eyes turned suspicously bright before he blinked a few times and nodded. He returned his attention to the cats, smiling at the sweet sight. "Bella needs a different stall for a while."

"Easily done," Athos said, before inwardly cringing, hoping it wouldn't seem obvious that the reason was due to horses that had been lost during the massacre.

Aramis made no comment as he watched the little family. He absently rubbed his forehead, and they knew that he was still in pain.

"All right?" Porthos asked, squeezing his shoulders again.

Aramis sighed, and hesitated before saying, "I'm…better."

The others were both surprised to not hear 'I'm fine'. Aramis had finally given them the truth; he wasn't fine, but he was better, especially after just experiencing the wonder of new life.

Serge suddenly startled everyone by shouting, "Lunch time!"

Aramis was jumpy since the massacre—not that he would ever admit it—and put a hand over his heart as he took a breath.

The others pretended not to notice, not wanting to dispute his new 'better' status.

"Hungry?" Porthos asked. Not waiting for an answer, he and Athos got on each side of their friend and gently pulled him upright, holding onto him as he tried to stiffy get his balance.

Aramis watched the kittens for another moment, smiling at the content expression on Gisèle's face as she happily purred. "Yes," he said, for the first time in nearly two months.

Porthos and Athos both smiled, each of them wrapping an arm around their friend as they guided him out of the stall.

THE END


	14. Austen

.

Saturday Story: Austen-ized. The theme was to put ourself in the body of someone from the show, similar to some Austen story or something. Odd, I know, but it was the theme so I had no choice. LOL

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 _How did I get here?_

Blinking, I found myself looking into deep brown eyes belonging to the most gorgeous man on the face of the earth. I was kneeling in front of where he sat on a bench, and I didn't even realize that his clothes were very old-fashioned and he had some kind of antique rifle across his lap. All I knew was that he was staring at me and I was staring at him, with my hand on his arm…his warm, strong arm…

His expression turned puzzled, and then a voice shattered the moment.

"CUT! Alex, what happened?"

I jumped and turned around, to see people standing around looking at me…with movie cameras.

 _I'm in a movie?_

"Did you forget what you were supposed to do? What'd you get 'lost in his eyes' or something?" the director said, making everyone laugh.

I blushed and looked away…right into those beautiful brown eyes again. "I know this is the first take of this scene, but I won't bite," the gorgeous actor told me with a teasing grin.

I smiled back.

"Now," he patiently said. "Just remember the rehearsals: kiss me, take the gun off my lap, pull me upright, and kiss me again."

I caught my breath. He said it so casually!

Behind me, someone said something that I barely heard, followed by the snapping sound of a clapboard. The gorgeous actor transformed in front of me as he fell back into his role.

As for me, it wasn't hard at all to do as he asked. His kiss was amazing…gentle but passionate at the same time. Once we were upright, I was taken by surprise when he started to walk me backwards. I don't know how I managed to keep up with him without tripping, and suddenly, we were lying on a bed, still kissing!

"CUT!"

The gorgeous man instantly stopped and rolled away to sit up while I blinked dazedly, staring at the ceiling. I still didn't know where I was, or why they thought me to be this 'Alex' person, but I knew right now that I never, _ever_ wanted to leave.

"All right," the director yelled. "Let's do another take!"

Oh yes, this is where I belonged... _forever_.

THE END


	15. Lost on a Desert Island

.

Saturday Story: Lost on a Desert Island  
By Deana

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"We're lost on a desert island," said Aramis, standing perfectly still in the hot sand. "We're lost on a desert island. Porthos, we're lost on a desert island."

"Tell me something I _don't_ know," Porthos replied.

Aramis blinked. "How will we get home?"

Porthos sighed. "I wish I knew."

Aramis slowly turned to look at him, spotting Athos looking around as if trying to find something. "What?! Porthos, we're _lost_ _on a_ _desert island_!"

"Panicking isn't like you, Aramis," Athos called back.

"Who's panicking?!" Aramis answered. "I'm simply stating a fact!"

Athos continued to look around.

"What are you searching for?" Aramis asked.

"Anything we can use," Athos replied. "Search for food," he said.

Aramis turned away, looking up at the trees. "Food, on a desert island," he said. He finally got his legs to work as some of the shock wore off and he obeyed, looking for anything edible. He found nothing, but when he returned, he found Porthos eating a Twinkie. "Where did you get that?!" he exclaimed.

"It was in my pocket," Porthos answered, mumbling with his mouth full.

"That was all the food we had left in this world!" Aramis exclaimed.

Porthos shrugged. "Sorry."

Sorry? _Sorry?!_

"Oh, I have one too," Athos suddenly said. "Here." He took it out of his pocket and tossed it to Aramis.

Aramis caught it. "It's open…with a bite taken out of it."

Athos nodded before turning around and resuming his search. "Yeah, I didn't feel like eating it."

Aramis made a face at him. "I don't eat things that other people bit."

"Even your closest friends?" said Porthos.

Aramis looked at him. "Being friends has nothing to do with it…germs are germs."

"That don't bother _me,_ " said Porthos, who proceeded to take the Twinkie out of his hand and eat it.

Aramis' jaw dropped. "You didn't even give me a _chance_! I could've eaten it from the _other_ side and avoided the bitten part!"

"Oh," said Porthos. "Sorry."

Aramis watched his friends, wondering if he'd lost his mind…or maybe _they_ had. "This can't be real," he said.

"Do you feel the sun?" said Porthos. "It's real."

Aramis closed his eyes and lifted his face towards the sky, feeling the heat on his face. With a sigh, he reopened his eyes…to see two huge Twinkies walking around. He blinked and shook his head, and they turned into his friends again. "I need to sit down," he said, before plopping down where he was.

Athos turned and looked at him with concern. "Aramis?"

"I just saw a mirage!" Aramis told him. "And yet we've only been here for ten minutes!"

"Calm down," Porthos told him.

Aramis raised a hand to his forehead, finding his skin heated by the sun.

"You'll be fine, Aramis," Porthos said, sitting beside him and putting his arm around him. "Don't worry."

"What?" Aramis jumped slightly, before finding himself lying on the couch in the living room of his apartment.

Porthos was feeling his forehead. "Hey, you back?"

Aramis blinked. "What?" he said again, confused.

"You were dreaming," said Athos. "Or hallucinating. Both, it seemed."

"Your fever must've spiked again after you fell asleep," Porthos explained. "You were dreaming, but then you opened your eyes and was saying stuff about a Twinkie."

Aramis' mind finally snapped itself back to the present, and he remembered that he'd been sick with a fever for the past two days. "Oh," he said, dragging up a hand to his face.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked him, adjusting the blanket that covered him.

"All right, I guess," Aramis told him, rubbing his eyes before lowering his hand and blinking. "Woozy."

"What did you dream?" Porthos asked.

"We were stuck on a desert island, and you had a Twinkie in your pocket," Aramis said. "You ate it as if it didn't matter that we were stranded without food. Then Athos gave me his, which he'd already bitten."

The others chuckled.

"Rest," Athos said, placing a wet cloth over his forehead.

Aramis closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

"I'll be right back," Porthos whispered, tiptoeing away and taking his keys out of his pocket.

"Where are you going?" Athos whispered back.

"To buy Twinkies!" said Porthos. He opened the door as quietly as possible and left without a sound.

Aramis slept on, and Athos shook his head with amusement.

THE END


	16. Musical

.

Saturday Story: Musical  
By Deana

For this theme, I chose the hilarious 1957 movie 'The Court Jester', starring Danny Kaye. It's one of my favorite movies ever…Danny Kaye was a comedy genius.  
Youtube links aren't allowed in stories, so copy and paste this into the youtube search bar and click the first result, to watch the actual scene that I'm using for this story: The Maladjusted Jester - The Court Jester (5/9) Movie CLIP (1956) HD

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Porthos really wasn't surprised that Aramis had chosen this movie. Again. Every few months he wanted to watch it, and Porthos was sure that it would go on for the rest of their lives. Most people their age had never even heard of the starring actor, nevermind the movie, which had aired when their _parents_ were babies. Still, it was a classic, and neither Porthos nor Athos were complaining, as it really was a hilarious movie.

Porthos smiled as he heard Aramis singing along to the words while the credits rolled and Danny Kaye danced along on the screen wearing a jester costume.

"Life could not better be, on a medieval spree  
Knights full of chivalry, villains full of villainy!  
You'll see as you suspect, maidens fair, in silks bedecked  
Each tried and true effect for the umpteenth time we'll resurrect.  
We did research, authenticity was a must  
Zooks! Did we search! And what did we find? *Achoo* a lotta dust!  
After the dust had cleared, half the cast had a beard  
And I'm the one as you can see for whom the bell tolls merrily!"

Aramis knew every single song, (and all of the dialogue) and after getting up a while later to grab some Twinkies from the kitchen—which Porthos had jokingly supplied him with after he'd had a bizarre dream about them the month before—Aramis had tossed one each to his friends and remained standing near the tv to join the jester in his song.

"I started to travel to try to unravel my mind and to find a new chance  
When I got to Spain it was suddenly plain that the field that appealed was the dance  
The Spanish were clannish but I wouldn't vanish I learned every step they had planned  
The first step of all isn't hard to recall 'cause the first step of all is to stand…and stand…and stand…and stand!"

Porthos and Athos both chuckled.

A musician in the movie started to play a light Spanish melody on a guitar while the jester—and Aramis—stood there trying to maintain the perfect Spanish stance, making funny faces along to the music. Suddenly, Aramis and the jester shouted, "Julio!" to the musician, who picked up the tempo and the music became more dramatic. The jester and Aramis took a stomping step to begin a Spanish dance…before they each made a sound of pain and gripped their knee, limping around in a circle.

The audience in the movie roared with laughter, as did Porthos. Athos laughed with them, the two friends amazed to see Aramis copy Danny Kaye so perfectly.

Aramis was laughing too as he continued to sing with the movie.

"I was heavily bruised but the king was amused and before a siesta he made me his jester  
And I found out soon that to be a buffoon was a serious thing as a rule!  
For a jester's chief employment, is to kill himself for your enjoyment  
And a jester unemployed…is nobody's fool!"

Aramis bowed, and Porthos and Athos clapped.

Smiling, Aramis sat between them with his Twinkie and they watched the rest of the movie, with Athos and Porthos inwardly hoping that Aramis would never, ever change.

THE END

Don't forget to check out the scene on youtube! Copy and paste this in the youtube search bar and then click the first result: The Maladjusted Jester - The Court Jester (5/9) Movie CLIP (1956) HD


	17. Disney

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The theme for this Saturday Story was 'Disney'. It took me a long time to come up with this…I watched it all the time as a kid in the 80's, and yes, it was made by Disney!

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 _"Out of the night,  
When the full moon is bright…  
Comes the horseman known as Zorro.  
This bold renegade  
Carves a 'Z' with his blade,  
A 'Z' that stands for Zorro._

 _Zorro, Zorro, the fox so cunning and free…_  
 _Zorro, Zorro, who makes the sign of the 'Z'._

 _He is polite,_  
 _But the wicked take flight…_  
 _When they catch the sight of Zorro._  
 _He's friend of the weak,_  
 _And the poor and the meek,_  
 _This very unique Senor Zorro._

 _Zorro, Zorro, the fox so cunning and free…_  
 _Zorro, Zorro, who makes the sign of the 'Z'._

 _Zorro, Zorro, Zorro, Zorro, Zorro..."_

The children watched in rapt attention as the man in black drew his sword.

"Ah," Aramis said. "Do you really think you can best me, señor?"

"I know I can!" said Porthos. "No one has ever beaten me in a duel!"

"Well you know what they say," said Aramis. "There's a first time for everything!" With that, he made the first strike, and the two men cracked blades as they moved all across the room of the orphanage.

Aramis smiled, his eyes twinkling from the eyeholes of his mask and his cape billowing around him as he made a fool of his 'enemy'.

Porthos faked his desperation quite well as he fought back. It was obvious that Zorro was the better fencer—of course—but he continued to fight anyway.

Aramis moved with ease, his natural ability obvious to everyone who watched. He was so amazing, that most of the adults in the room wondered why he hadn't gone into acting.

Seconds later, Aramis knocked the sword from Porthos' hand. "Had enough?"

Porthos dropped to his knees. "Oh, spare me, Zorro! Please!"

"I shall," Zorro said. "Killing is not my way. Sergeant Garcia!"

"Yes?" d'Artagnan appeared, hilariously wearing a fat suit.

"Arrest this man and take him to prison!"

"Si, Señor Zorro!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. He grabbed Porthos and hauled him out of sight.

Aramis sheathed his sword, just as Athos walked into the room. Aramis pretended not to notice him walking up behind him, even after Athos drew his own sword.

A child in the audience shouted, "Zorro, look out!"

Aramis smiled at him and turned around. "Captain Monastario, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Pleasure?" said Athos. "You are a thorn in my side, Zorro, and one day I will be rid of you!"

"Ah, but in the meantime, Sergeant Garcia has just taken a prisoner to your jail, so I suggest you go lock the cell." He took something out of his pocket and tossed it to him. "He dropped the key."

The children in the audience laughed.

"Until we meet again!" said Aramis, before swiping his sword on the front of Athos' vest and running off.

Athos quickly undid the button and let it fall open to display the 'rip' in his shirt in the shape of a Z. "Not another ruined shirt! ZORROOOOO!" he shouted.

With that, the lights dimmed and their performance ended.

The room erupted in delighted clapping.

The lights came back on and Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan were standing in a row, and they all bowed.

"You were right," Porthos said to Aramis as everyone clapped. "That was fun!"

"And we made the orphans happy!" said Aramis.

D'Artagnan smiled. "Can we do this again?"

"If I can play Porthos' role next time," said Athos.

"Never fear, Athos," said Aramis. "You can keep the role you have and I'll write a fantastic fight scene between you and I for the _next_ episode!"

Athos nodded. "Fine."

The child who'd yelled 'look out!' to Zorro ran over to them. "That was awesome! Can you come back and do this again?"

"Of course!" said Aramis, kneeling and taking off his black hat, which he plopped on the boy's head. "Now, did I hear someone mention snacks earlier?"

"Yup!" said the boy. He grabbed Aramis' hand and led him towards the kitchen.

The other three watched them go, each of them silently thinking that Aramis would make a wonderful father.

THE END


	18. Save a Life

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This Saturday Story theme was 'save a life'.

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They all knew that it wasn't the best idea, but it was the quickest way to get back to Paris.

"Seems like it's too late to change our minds now," said Porthos. "We're already here."

Aramis took a deep breath and let it out slowly before looking at Athos. "He's right."

Athos said nothing, as the three musketeers studied the terrain from atop their horses as they debated what to do. They'd had a lot of rain recently, and their journey back to Paris from Dijon would be shortened if they crossed a small mountain range. They'd climbed it, only to find that it seemed unstable at the top.

All three of them were intelligent enough to know that a rock slide could kill them.

"We'll never know unless we try," said Porthos. "If it doesn't seem safe, we can turn around." With that, he carefully nudged his horse forward.

Aramis and Athos watched, and when nothing happened, they decided to follow.

Everything seemed fine at first, but a rock suddenly shifted out of place near one of the hooves of Porthos' horse and was sent tumbling down the mountain. As if that piece had been holding everything together, a whole layer of rock suddenly slid out from under them.

Porthos' horse stumbled and he jumped off it. They both slid as if they were on a sheet of ice, and Porthos kept hold of his horse's reins, which kept him moving and free from real harm. When everything stopped, he quickly stood, looking for his friends.

Before he could even yell their names, he heard a frantic shout.

"PORTHOS! PORTHOS!"

To his surprise, it was Athos' voice. The sound sent a shock of fear down his spine; he'd never heard Athos yell like that…and it could only mean one thing…

Something had happened to Aramis, and it had to be very, _very_ bad.

Porthos started to run, stumbling over rocks and climbing over small boulders as Athos continued to yell for him. Panic seized his lungs and he could hardly breathe as fear threatened to overwhelm him. Was Aramis dead?

Finally, Porthos made it to where his friends were, and his heart nearly stopped at what he saw…

Athos was on the ground with a small boulder pinning his leg to the earth. That sight was shocking enough, until he saw Aramis…who was standing beside him preventing another boulder from crushing their prone friend.

The boulder was huge and resting atop a hill of stone, which sloped downward and towered over Athos. The massive rock was hanging over the edge, and Aramis was the only thing stopping it from falling.

Porthos ran over. "Let me take it, Aramis!"

With extreme effort, Aramis shook his head. He had both hands pressed to the boulder, using all of his strength and more to keep it there. Gasps of pain and overexertion passed his lips without halting, as blood dripped down the right side of his face from a cut beside his eyebrow.

Porthos quickly realized that he needed to get Athos out of harm's way first, and he quickly moved to free his friend's leg, terrified of what he would find under the rock.

"I'm fine!" Athos told him. "The ground is soft."

Porthos moved the rock and Athos scrambled out from under it, limping a little as he climbed to his feet.

Porthos turned to Aramis and put his own hands on the boulder. "Let go!" he said.

"Move!" Aramis somehow got out. His arms shook from the strain of holding the boulder, and sweat had popped out on his face. He was obviously afraid that transferring the weight could make it fall on Porthos, so he refused to budge.

Porthos realized that Aramis would probably drop where he stood once he let go anyway, which would put him in the same dangerous position that Athos was in a moment ago. "Athos," he said. "Grab Aramis and pull him away when I say 'three'!"

Athos immediately understood and obeyed, wrapping his arms around Aramis from behind and nodding to Porthos.

"One...two...three!"

Athos swung Aramis away from the boulder and Porthos let go, jumping back as the massive rock slammed to the earth.

Aramis' legs instantly buckled and Athos lowered him to lie on the ground.

Porthos ran over and knelt beside them, watching Aramis as he lay gasping, hands gripping his chest in pain.

Athos looked at Porthos, both of them knowing that the weight had been much too heavy for Aramis to hold. The feat had been super-human, and they feared that serious damage had been done.

"What do we do, Aramis?!" Porthos asked, knowing that asking if he was all right would be ridiculous.

Aramis shook his head, eyes closed against dizziness as he fought to drag air into a chest that was full of searing pain.

Athos squeezed Aramis' shoulder and they waited as their friend tried to catch his breath. He turned to look at the boulder and couldn't believe that Aramis had managed to hold it up for so long. All three of them had saved each other's lives before, but a chill shot down his spine at the realization of what could have happened.

Porthos followed Athos' gaze and was speechless. He looked at Aramis again when he gave a moan of pain. "Where are you hurt?" he asked.

Aramis had some of his breath back, but breathing was agony. He still had a hand on his chest, and patted it as if to communicate without speaking.

"Ribs?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head.

"Muscles," said Athos. "From holding the boulder."

Aramis nodded, closing his eyes again. Blood continued to drip down his face, and Athos took out a handkerchief and held it over the wound.

For the next ten minutes, they stitched the cut beside Aramis' eye and then just sat there, trying to regain their wits. None of them were strangers to amazing feats of strength born out of desperation, but they were still in awe at what Aramis had done.

"How did you do that?" Athos asked.

Aramis shook his head from where he still lay, with his head pillowed on Porthos' leg. "The Grace of God," he answered.

It was quite a while before the pain in his chest subsided enough for him to move, and when he was ready, both of his friends gently pulled him to sit upright, where he winced.

"Could that have damaged anything _else_ on the inside?" Porthos asked, wondering how Aramis' heart had taken the strain.

The answer to that was a definite 'yes', but Aramis wasn't about to admit that unless some dangerous symptom showed itself. "I'll be fine," he said.

Athos had retrieved a waterskin and opened it, holding it to Aramis' lips so he wouldn't have to move his aching arms. "Thank you," Aramis said, after he drank his fill.

Athos shook his head. "No, thank _you._ You saved my life in a way that I would've never thought possible."

" _Nothing_ is impossible, my friend," Aramis told him, with a smile. He looked at his horse with a sigh. "Though, for me, _mounting_ may be right now."

It took both Athos and Porthos to get Aramis upright. His entire upper body was throbbing with pain, and the scenery tilted once he was standing, forcing him to close his eyes.

The others noticed and held onto him tighter.

"I'm fine," Aramis said, reopening his eyes.

Porthos snorted—without humor—and they helped him mount Bella.

The ride across the mountains—which was 'safe' now that the unstable portion had already been dislodged—was slow. Athos held the reins of Aramis' horse while Aramis simply tried to stay comfortable in the saddle, which was nearly impossible with the throbbing paid from his chest up to his head and down each arm. The whole way home, he kept thanking God for the boost of strength that had saved Athos' life.

When they finally rode into the garrison, Captain Treville headed over to them, noticing Aramis' horse being lead and seeing how dirty and disheveled they were. "What happened?" he asked, seeing Aramis' stitched cut.

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," said Porthos, dismounting before reaching up to help Aramis.

Aramis said nothing, swinging his leg over his horse's head and trying to slide down without moving his arms.

Treville watched with confusion, frowning with worry once Aramis was standing on the ground within his friend's grasp, wincing. "Does he need a physician?"

Athos seemed unsure for a moment. "I don't believe anything can be done for him."

"That's right," Aramis said.

Treville sighed, not sure _what_ to believe. "Get him to his room, I'll be there shortly and you can explain."

They obeyed, and eventually told him the story.

Treville was nearly speechless. "Aramis…that's absolutely incredible. I don't know what else to say."

Aramis smiled slightly from where he lay on his bed. "There's nothing else _to_ say but 'Thank you, God'; for He granted me the strength of Samson, and that's why Athos is still alive."

No one disagreed…for none of them could deny it.

THE END


	19. Second Dream Theme

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Saturday Story: Dreams

This turned out to be a continuation of my story from last week! If you didn't read it, make sure you do!

 _Aramis' entire body shook as he used all of his strength and more to stop a huge boulder from falling onto Athos, who was pinned to the ground by a smaller boulder atop one of his legs._

 _"PORTHOS!" Athos shouted, over and over, as he tried to push the rock off himself. It was obvious that Aramis would not be able to hold the boulder for long—he had no idea how Aramis was managing to hold it *at all*._

 _Porthos came charging over and tried to take the boulder's weight away from Aramis, but the marksman refused to budge, not wanting to risk it falling on either of his friends. Instead, Porthos moved the rock off Athos' leg so he could get safely out of harm's way, and Athos scrambled out from the boulder's path and stood._

 _Suddenly, Aramis' strength finally gave out, and he gave a cry of shock when the boulder shifted forward._

 _"Aramis!" Athos and Porthos both shouted. There was nothing that either of them could do as the boulder moved and Aramis fell to the ground under its weight..._

Athos shot upright in his chair, breathing heavily as he looked around the room. He spotted Aramis sleeping in his bed, and he was out of his seat before he even had time to think.

Porthos was sitting in a chair beside him, and reached out to grab him before he could accidentally wake Aramis.

Athos came back to himself and watched Aramis breathe before he sighed with relief.

"Bad dream?" Porthos whispered, so as not to wake their injured friend.

Athos looked at him and was about to shake his head, but how else could he explain his bizarre behavior? With another sigh, he nodded and sat back down.

"It was about Aramis," Porthos stated.

Athos nodded again. "The boulder...fell on him," he whispered.

Porthos sighed. "I have a feelin' I'll be seein' that in _my_ dreams too." He shook his head, still stunned that Aramis had managed such an amazing feat of strength.

Athos looked at Aramis again, and noticed that his eyebrows were drawn a little closer together than they'd been a moment ago. "You're awake," he said.

Aramis opened his eyes, realizing that he'd failed in trying to still appear asleep. "Forgive me for interrupting your rest," he said to Athos.

Athos frowned.

"Interruptin' _his_ rest?" Porthos said. "We just woke _you_ up, not the other way around. How's your head?" he asked, wondering if the blow that Aramis had taken during the rockslide had addled his thoughts.

"It's fine," Aramis lied. "I meant interrupting his rest with the dream."

Athos sighed. "What I dream is no fault of yours. After saving my life, you are not allowed to apologize for _anything_."

Aramis smiled slightly. "Anything? Forever?"

Porthos laughed at that.

Athos smiled slightly. "For a while, at least."

Aramis chuckled, before wincing. His head was throbbing and the muscles in his entire upper body were fiercely aching; through his chest, back, shoulders, and down both arms.

"Take it easy," said Porthos, reaching over to put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Athos grabbed the pitcher of water on the nightstand and poured some into a glass, watching as Porthos ever so carefully pulled Aramis upright just enough to drink. He held the glass to his lips and let Aramis have his fill.

Aramis drank it and turned his head away when he was finished, before yawning.

Porthos lowered him back down. "Sleep," he said.

"Mmm," Aramis mumbled, eyes closed. He lay quietly for a moment before reopening his eyes. "Athos?"

"Yes?"

"Sweet dreams." He looked at Porthos next. "That also goes for you; no bad dreams."

Porthos nodded and gently patted Aramis' arm. "No bad dreams for all _three_ of us."

"Ever," Aramis said, the word sounding like a prayer as his eyes closed and he drifted back to sleep.

As Athos watched him, his own eyelids eventually grew heavy.

"No bad dreams," Porthos whispered to him.

 _Ever,_ Athos' half-asleep mind echoed. He eventually dozed off…and had pleasant dreams all night.

THE END


	20. Aramis

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The theme for this one was Aramis!

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Captain Treville was sure that he would never forget that day for as long as he lived. He'd sent his three best musketeers to deliver a letter for the king; it should've been easy and trouble-free, yet they hadn't returned unscathed...rather, _one_ of them hadn't.

Treville sighed at the thought of Aramis suffering another head injury so soon after Savoy. It'd been only six months since that terrible tragedy, and the young musketeer still wasn't himself; suffering from terrible headaches and grief. He'd found loyal friends in Athos and Porthos, who he'd known before the massacre but had become like brothers after the incident. They'd diligently taken care of him from the instant he'd returned wounded and half-dead from that unexpected battlefield, and Treville knew that they were the main reason why Aramis was still alive.

With a sigh, Treville thought back to yesterday afternoon, remembering the fright he'd felt to see them ride into the garrison with Aramis slumped in Porthos' arms. "What happened?!" he exclaimed.

Athos opened his mouth, but Aramis' voice spoke.

"You'll never believe it, Captain," Aramis told him.

Treville frowned. "Believe what?"

Athos dismounted and reached up to help Aramis as Porthos handed him down to them.

Once standing, Aramis moaned and swayed dangerously in their grasp, eyes closed. "You...won't...believe it."

"Tell me," Treville said.

Aramis reopened his eyes and said in all seriousness, "The duck hit the bullseye."

Treville blinked before saying, "The...duck?"

Aramis nodded, before flinching at the pain. "People were going to...to..."

"Going to what?"

"I was hoping _you_ knew," Aramis answered.

Treville didn't know what to make of Aramis' babbling, and looked at the others. "Did you deliver the message?"

"No," said Aramis, before they could answer. "I told you that the beaver took it."

Treville sucked in a sharp breath, his shock obvious. "Is he drunk?!" he asked Athos and Porthos.

Both men shook their heads.

"Bump on his head the size of an egg," Porthos whispered.

Aramis groaned again and raised his hands to cover his ears. "Why are you shouting?" he said. "The ants can hear you!"

His friends tightened their hold on his arms.

"Get him to bed," said Treville. "I'll send for a doctor."

"No doctor!" Aramis said, struggling as his friends tried to lead him away. "They can't be trusted! They knock down bridges and shoot trees! Innocent _trees_!"

Athos and Porthos settled for sitting Aramis on the bench at the outside table. Porthos sat and wrapped an arm around him as Aramis groaned and laid his throbbing head on his friend's shoulder.

Athos motioned for Treville to follow him and they walked a short distance away.

"What on earth happened to him?!" Treville asked.

"We delivered the letter," Athos told him. "On our way back, a storm was brewing nearby and there was an excessively-loud crack of thunder. Aramis' horse was being more skittish than usual and she reared." He shook his head. "Aramis was taken by surprise and couldn't hang on; he fell and struck his head on a rock. He was unconscious for a few hours and woke like that; speaking inane nonsense."

Treville sighed and covered his eyes for a few seconds. "Another concussion."

"So soon after the last one," said Athos.

"I'll send for a doctor," Treville told him.

Athos nodded just as Porthos' voice drifted over to them.

"Nono, Aramis, you stay awake, now!"

Turning, they watched as Aramis attempted to slide off the bench, and they hurried over.

"Sleeping is better," Aramis mumbled. "Until the dreams come."

Porthos, both arms around their friend to stop him from melting to the ground, looked at Athos and Treville with a stricken expression.

"No sleep," Aramis said then, struggling to open his eyes. "No doctors...and no mice. Cats are fine, though. Athos?"

"Yes, Aramis?"

"Can I have a cat?"

"You have many cats, Aramis," Athos told him, as he and Porthos pulled him up off the bench. "The garrison is full of them."

"They get rid of the mice," Porthos explained.

"Oh," said Aramis. "Poor little mice." He fell quiet after that, saying nothing as his friends brought him to his room and put him to bed.

The physician arrived not long after, and Aramis ranted for a minute about doctors killing trees and made him promise that he wouldn't, before he submitted to an examination.

The doctor tsked over his condition and told them how dangerous it was for Aramis to have another concussion.

"We know," Treville answered. " _Believe_ me, we know."

Rest, rest, and more rest was the doctor's prescription, and he had no answer for them on when—or if—Aramis' mind would return to normal.

"Are you saying that he could be like this forever?!" Treville hissed.

The doctor looked towards the bed where Aramis lay, with his two friends sitting in chairs beside him. "The concussion he had six months ago was very severe; it was a miracle that he recovered with no effects other than the lingering pain. Any head injury he has for the rest of his life will come with high risk. He may simply be disoriented and go back to his usual self in an hour, tonight, or even in the morning…or he may not at all. It's impossible for me to know yet."

Treville sighed heavily.

"I'll come back tomorrow," the doctor told him. "In the meantime, keep him in bed, wake him frequently…you know what to do."

Treville nodded; he did indeed. He headed over to the bed as the doctor left, and looked down at his injured musketeer. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Aramis' eyes were half-closed and he lay unmoving. "Like it's Friday."

"I meant your head," Treville told him.

"We go to the tavern on Friday night," Aramis continued, as if he hadn't heard him. "Saturday night too. What's today?"

"Tuesday," Treville answered.

"Oh," Aramis said. "Good. I don't think I'd be going anywhere if today was Friday or Saturday."

Treville grabbed another chair and placed it beside Athos. "No, you certainly wouldn't be. How's your head?"

Aramis closed his eyes. "I don't know, I haven't asked it."

The three men shot worried glances at each other, unnerved by Aramis' odd talk.

"Sleep," said Athos.

Aramis made a face. "I can't."

"Why?" Porthos asked.

"My head hurts," Aramis told him. He sighed and made a distressed sound. "It always hurts, since…then…but it's worse now."

The reference to Savoy sent stabs of dismay into each of their hearts.

"Just sleep, Aramis," Porthos said. "It'll get better, I promise."

"It will?"

"Yes."

Aramis said nothing after that, and they realized with surprise that he'd apparently obeyed Porthos.

The three men spent a tense hour before waking their friend, to ensure that he didn't slip from sleep into unconsciousness.

"Aramis?" Porthos called, squeezing his shoulder. "Aramis?"

"Mmmgh."

"Wake up."

"Oooh," Aramis moaned. "Leave the wine alone…it belongs to the donkey."

They let him go back to sleep, and each time they woke him, they were disappointed to find that he was still the same.

"Where's the cat?!" he suddenly exclaimed.

"Which one?" Athos asked.

"Gisèle!" Aramis answered. He looked around frantically, and Porthos had to hold him down.

"Go get the cat," Athos told him, sitting on the side of Aramis' bed.

Porthos obeyed, leaving and coming back a few minutes later with a pretty calico that he placed on the bed. "Here she is, Aramis."

Aramis pulled her to lay against his side, closing his eyes and gently stroking her fur.

Gisèle started to purr and remained there even after Aramis fell back to sleep.

When suppertime came, Aramis refused to eat.

"You need strength, Aramis," Porthos told him.

"I can't do it."

"Do you feel ill?" Athos asked, knowing that nausea was a common concussion symptom.

Aramis looked at him with a troubled expression. "That chicken was _alive_ before."

Athos fought to stop himself from sighing aloud. "Chicken is food, Aramis."

"And it's one of your favorite things to eat," Porthos told him.

Aramis closed his eyes. "But it would still be alive if we didn't need to eat it."

"No it wouldn't," said Athos. "It was already dead when Serge bought it."

Aramis reopened his eyes.

"If he hadn't bought it, then someone else would've," said Porthos. "And if not, it would've been thrown away."

Aramis submitted after that, though he fed some of it to Gisèle.

Afterwards, Aramis' headache grew worse and he lay with an arm over his eyes, occasionally groaning. Gisèle lay curled inside his other arm, purring nonstop as if trying to soothe him.

Athos, Porthos, and Treville sat beside the bed, feeling worried and helpless. They kept a wet cloth over his forehead, hoping that the cold water would help the pain.

"Captain?" Aramis eventually mumbled.

Treville stood from his chair and sat on the side of the bed. "Yes, Aramis?"

"What happened?"

The others all looked at each other with surprise, hoping that his mind had finally come back to him.

"You were thrown from your horse," Treville told him. "You struck your head on a rock and have a concussion."

Aramis said nothing for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly in response to the pain. "How did I survive?"

Treville frowned at the question.

"Everyone else died," Aramis continued, his mind reverting to Savoy.

Treville sighed, before rewetting the cloth on Aramis' forehead. "Just rest, you'll be fine."

Aramis' eyes stayed closed, and he fell silent.

The musketeers spent a tense night, taking turns watching over their friend. Aramis woke each time without too much difficulty, but continued to speak nonsensically. Eventually, he only gave tired mumbles, and after dawn rose, they dared to let him sleep longer.

Gisèle spent the night beside Aramis, and when they woke him midmorning, she stood and began licking a paw.

Aramis groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"How do you feel, Aramis?" Porthos asked. He knew it was a ridiculous question, but they all practically held their breath as they waited to see if he'd give a coherent answer.

"I knew I shouldn't have done it," Aramis answered.

"Done what?" Treville asked.

"Eaten that chicken," Aramis said, raising a hand to his head. "It's punishing me."

All three men felt as if the bottom fell out of their stomachs.

"Aramis…" Porthos whispered, in shock at the implications.

"You hit your head, Aramis," Treville told him. "You'll be fine."

Aramis continued to rub his forehead, and he raised his other hand and accidentally bumped the still-bathing Gisèle, who gave a startled, 'grrt' and turned to look at him with her tongue still out of her mouth. "Sorry," Aramis said, before petting her without even opening his eyes.

Gisèle continued her bath.

Serge sent breakfast up to Aramis a short time later. "What's this?" he asked.

"That is porridge," Athos told him. "A vile dish that you enjoy."

Aramis stared at it untrustingly. "Is chicken in it?"

Under different circumstances, Porthos would've been laughing his head off. "No," he said.

Aramis dug the spoon in and tasted it. Satisfied that they'd told him the truth, he continued to eat. "It's good," he said.

"We're glad," Treville told him.

Aramis took a few more bites before saying, "Serge made it just how I like it; with honey."

It took a few seconds for the others to realize that he'd said something that made sense. Before they could react, Aramis suddenly dropped the spoon into the bowl and put a hand over his eyes with a groan.

Everyone sat on the bed and Treville pulled Aramis' hand away so he could see into his face. "Aramis?"

Brown eyes opened slowly, squinted against the pain. "Captain?"

Treville studied him. "Are you with us?"

Aramis frowned, looking at each of them. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

At that, Porthos reached over and grabbed him in a hug. "You'd better not do that to us ever again!"

Aramis endured the squeeze, patting him on the back. "What did I do?"

"It's more of what you _said_ ," Athos told him.

Aramis looked at him, before his eyes dawned with realization. "I remember some of it...I think. Are you telling me that it wasn't all a dream?"

"No," said Treville, smiling with relief. "You weren't dreaming."

Aramis suddenly winced. "Porthos..."

The bigger musketeer quickly let go, and they watched with concern as Aramis raised both hands to the sides of his head.

"Ooooh," Aramis moaned. "I need a new head."

"As long as you don't need a new _brain_ ," said Porthos.

"Funny," Aramis commented.

Gisèle suddenly stood and started rubbing her face on Aramis' left elbow. Aramis lowered his arm to pet her, and her purring filled the room.

"She guarded you all night," Porthos told him.

"I remember," Aramis said, with a fond smile.

The doctor arrived less than an hour later, and was relieved to find that his patient's mind was whole once more. He prescribed complete bed-rest for a week, which irritated Aramis and made him feel like he was enduring the recovery from Savoy again.

That night, Serge made Aramis' favorite chicken soup, and they sat around his bed telling him the odd things he'd said that he couldn't remember.

Aramis chuckled as he ate, though he was embarrassed to hear that he'd made the doctor promise to not kill trees.

"It was hilarious!" laughed Porthos.

Athos glared at him.

"Well," Porthos said. "It wasn't funny at the time; we were so worried about you. But to think of it now..."

"I understand," Aramis said, as he spooned some soup into his mouth. He suddenly felt both of his friends staring at him, and he looked up. "What?"

"Chicken," Porthos said.

Aramis looked into his bowl. "Yes, there's chicken in here, why?"

Porthos laughed. "You wanna tell him that one, Athos?"

"You refused to eat because you felt responsible for the chicken's death," said Athos.

"I did?"

"Oh Athos, tell him his actual words!" said Porthos. "You said 'that chicken was alive before'!"

Aramis looked down at his bowl. "I remember." He scooped up some more soup and ate it. "Delicious!" he said with a smile. "I must compliment Serge."

Porthos laughed again and looked at Athos. "He's back all right!"

THE END


	21. Athos

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The theme for this Saturday Story was Athos.

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Athos sat with his face in his hands. If he kept his eyes closed, he could imagine that he was alone in the room…that no one else was there…but no. Nothing could change the fact that he wasn't alone, and nothing could change the fact that the room's other occupant was currently unconscious.

Aramis had taken a bullet for him.

Athos knew very well how much his friend cared for him; Aramis was never shy about showing love for his brothers. It was often exasperating to see how quickly Aramis would throw all caution to the wind when it came to protecting one of them, and they'd all lectured him on the subject of self-preservation. Each time, Aramis would smile and nod…and the next day be throwing himself on a bomb to save their lives.

Athos sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. He hadn't even seen the man who'd pointed a pistol at him; he'd simply been thrown to the ground just as a *bang* filled the air. Something heavy had landed on his back and he'd gasped a few times to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. When he turned over to push the object off himself, he found that it was Aramis, who was bleeding heavily.

Athos sighed again. He knew that he shouldn't've been surprised, but the shock had yet to wear off. He'd thought that his friend had been shot in the chest but it turned out to be his shoulder; the left one, thankfully. He'd brought Aramis back to the garrison and a doctor had skillfully removed the bullet and stitched the wound, instructing them to notify him if Aramis developed a fever. So far, he hadn't.

The incident had happened the afternoon before, and Porthos and d'Artagnan had been forced to stand guard duty in the palace that morning. Athos remained behind to care for their wounded friend, as he felt it to be his responsibility after Aramis' sacrifice.

The room was so quiet.

Too often over the years, he'd wished that the talkative Aramis would close his mouth so Athos could hear his depressing thoughts. Aramis never took offense…rather, he rarely _showed_ it, even when Athos had snapped at him often early in their friendship. But in times like these, Athos wanted to hear the sound of his friend's voice more than anything.

With a sigh, he eventually stood from the chair and stretched before walking over to the window and looking out on the day. The temperature was pleasantly warm and it was bright and sunny…Aramis' favorite kind of day.

Athos leaned against the wall with a sigh. He hated when one of his friends got themselves hurt or in trouble because of him.

A sudden, soft cough got his attention and he turned towards the bed, seeing Aramis move his head slightly. A groan was the next sound that he heard and he quickly strode back to his chair and poured a cup of water. "Aramis," he said. "Stay awake."

A mumble was the only answer he got.

Gently, Athos lifted his friend's head and placed the cup to his lips, waiting patiently as Aramis slowly drank it. Once he was finished, Athos put the cup down and stared at his friend. "How do you feel?"

Aramis' eyes were still closed; he was wincing and breathing heavily. "Happy," he whispered.

Athos frowned. Had he heard wrong? "I don't understand."

"Happy," Aramis repeated, weakly. "Glad that you…weren't hit."

Athos sighed. "I would've rather it be _me_."

Aramis finally opened his eyes slightly. "I'll _never_ let it be you…if I can help it." His eyes closed again and he fell back to sleep.

Athos' heart sunk at those words, but at the same time, it warmed his heart to know that he had such a loyal brother. With a sigh, he shifted to sit back in his chair, vowing to himself that next time, he'd ensure that the bullet hit _him_ instead of Aramis.

THE END


	22. Porthos

The theme for this Saturday Story was Porthos

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"Come on, Aramis! Is that all you've got?" Porthos exclaimed. He pounded his fists together with a laugh as he and his friend circled each other in the garrison courtyard.

Aramis gave him an indignant look before lunging towards him.

Porthos blocked his fists, succeeding in deflecting the blows. He was being unusually gentle, because his friend still had yet to regain his full strength after being wounded during the recent massacre in Savoy.

Aramis gave an indignant squawk and attacked again.

Porthos laughed as he fought back. When he and Aramis had sparred the week before, Aramis had not lasted long and it had depressed him. Porthos encouraged him to keep trying, and they'd sparred every day since. Aramis was slowly regaining his strength, and as it returned, so did some of his spirit.

Porthos thought back to those first few days after Savoy. He'd been convinced that Aramis would die, and each hour that he'd continued to live surprised him more and more. He and Athos became his caretakers, never leaving his side. When it became definite that Aramis would live, he felt the biggest sense of accomplishment that he'd ever felt in his life, and he vowed to himself that he would protect Aramis forever.

Porthos always had a desire to protect people, which was why he'd joined the infantry when he was old enough; he loved his country and wanted to keep its people safe. Becoming a musketeer had been a dream come true and it heightened his sense of protection; the pauldron he wore was envied by many, and he worked every day to ensure that he deserved it…

…even if it meant simply helping a wounded man regain his strength.

Porthos' thoughts had wandered and a sudden *smack* filled the air when he got in a lucky strike. Panic filled him when Aramis fell and landed on his rear end. "Aramis! I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, quickly kneeling beside him.

Aramis automatically shook his head to dispel the light dizziness that filled his senses, before realizing that it would only make it worse. "I'm fine."

Porthos sighed, feeling guilty to have hit Aramis when he still wasn't healthy. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Aramis told him, before holding up a hand to be helped up.

Porthos took it and pulled his friend to his feet, and was taken by surprise when Aramis got in a lucky strike of his own. "Why you—!" he laughed, and the sparring continued.

When they finally called a halt, Aramis was sweating and breathing heavily, hardly able to remain standing. His body was displaying proof that he still wasn't fighting-fit, and he stumbled his way over to the table, slumping down onto the bench.

Porthos sat beside his friend and handed him a handkerchief. "You did good; you're gettin' better."

Aramis nodded, wiping away the sweat as he fought to catch his breath, before drinking the water that Porthos poured him. "Thanks to _you_ ," he said, leaning back against the post behind him.

Porthos smiled. "I couldn't have helped you if you didn't let me. Give yourself some credit."

Aramis sighed at that. For the first few days after Savoy, he hadn't much will to live; the slaughter of the other twenty musketeers and Marsac's betrayal had devastated him. "I wouldn't have survived without you," he said.

Porthos wrapped an arm around his friend. "I'll always be here for you, Aramis."

"I know you will," Aramis said. "Because you're Porthos the Protector."

Porthos looked at him. "Porthos the Protector…I like the sound of that!"

THE END


	23. D'Artagnan

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The theme for this Saturday Story: d'Artagnan

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 _A good musketeer is always aware of his surroundings,_ he'd been taught. _Pay attention to everything, no matter how insignificant it seems._

D'Artagnan always listened to Aramis' advice; he was very wise and an excellent teacher...but that day, his mind had been on the unexpected kiss that he and Constance had shared in her kitchen, and after he turned into an alley, hands suddenly grabbed him from behind and shocked him from his thoughts. D'Artagnan immediately elbowed his assailant, but more hands replaced the ones that let go and violently spun him around.

Six men were in the alley, and d'Artagnan fought them, but was outnumbered. As he punched one man, he saw someone else enter the fight from the corner of his eye, but didn't know who it was until the fight was over.

In the end, the six men lay unconscious at d'Artagnan and Aramis' feet.

"Thank you," d'Artagnan said to him, breathing heavily and wincing at the scattered pains throughout his body.

Aramis was leaning against the wall of a building, catching his breath with a hand over his stomach where he'd been punched. He waved a hand as if to say that it was nothing, before pushing himself away from the wall so they could leave.

D'Artagnan gasped with shock when Aramis' knees buckled, and he rushed forward to catch him and hold him up against the wall. "Are you all right?" he quickly asked.

Aramis closed his eyes before reaching a hand to the back of his head. It came away bloody.

D'Artagnan carefully pulled him a few steps over to a crate and sat him on it before looking at the back of his head. "You're bleeding everywhere!" he commented, quickly fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it to the wound.

Aramis gave a ragged groan. "Stitch it," he said.

"What?" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"My horse..." Aramis told him, gesturing towards the alley entrance. "Brown pouch."

D'Artagnan took a deep breath, before gently turning Aramis so he was leaning against the wall again. "Don't fall off."

Aramis' eyes were still closed. "I won't."

D'Artagnan dropped the sodden handkerchief and hurried to find Aramis' horse. As he stepped over his attackers, he realized that one—or more—of them might wake up, so he gave the first person he saw a coin and told him to fetch Athos and Porthos at the musketeer garrison. He found Bella and led her into the alley before grabbing the brown pouch out of the saddlebag.

Bella shoved her nose against Aramis' stomach.

With a wince, Aramis lifted one hand to pet the side of her face. "I'm fine," he murmured, as if she could understand.

D'Artagnan quickly dug out a needle and thread, using another piece of cloth to pat away the blood that kept welling up. "I've never done this before," he nervously told him.

"You've seen _me_ do it," Aramis replied.

D'Artagnan sighed. "Watching and doing aren't the same."

"There's a first time...for everything," Aramis told him. He sounded weak.

D'Artagnan knew that he had to stop the bleeding quickly, so after taking a deep breath, he got to work.

Aramis tried his best not to react; leaning his forehead against Bella's, with his hands on either side of her face, grasping her mane.

The amazing horse stood completely still.

D'Artagnan tried to focus on his careful stitching, and when he was nearly finished, he heard running footsteps approaching.

"What happened?!" Porthos' voice boomed through the alley.

"Don't distract me!" d'Artagnan answered.

The other two reached them and Athos looked over d'Artagnan's shoulder, while Porthos sat beside Aramis and put an arm around him in support.

A minute later, d'Artagnan was finished and felt a slight wave of relieved lightheadedness wash over him. "Did I do all right?"

Athos took the cloth out of d'Artagnan's hand and patted it over the ten stitches. "You did fine."

D'Artagnan sighed with relief.

Porthos gently pulled Aramis away from Bella so they could wrap a bandage around his head.

Aramis' face was very pale, his eyes tightly closed.

Porthos could feel light tremors shaking his friend's body. "He shouldn't ride."

"I'll borrow a cart," d'Artagnan said. He rushed out of the alley, his heart beating painfully fast as he searched. Once he spotted one, he hurried to its owner. "Sir," he said. "A musketeer has been wounded. Please, would you drive him back to our garrison?"

The man looked at him skeptically, wondering if he was lying and would lure him away to kill him and steal it. "You're not a musketeer," he noticed.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Not yet, but what I say is true. It's the musketeer Aramis. Please."

The man seemed to recognize the name. "Where is he?"

"This way," d'Artagnan said.

The man followed him leading his cart, and when he peered down the alley, he agreed.

D'Artagnan hurried back to his friends, finding Aramis leaning against Porthos, eyes still closed. "I found someone to help."

"Good work," said Athos, heading towards the cart to help the owner rearrange the things inside.

 _Good work?_ D'Artagnan looked at Aramis, feeling terribly guilty that his friend had been hurt defending him.

Porthos eventually lifted the half-conscious Aramis into his arms and placed him in the cart, where Athos was waiting to pull him towards the back. Porthos then jumped in and headed over, sitting down and taking Aramis from Athos, holding him in his arms to minimize the effects of what would be a painful journey.

D'Artagnan watched, feeling guiltier. He mounted his horse and took the reins of Aramis', while Athos took Porthos'.

The cart owner drove behind them, and d'Artagnan couldn't stop himself from looking back every few minutes, even though he was unable to see Aramis.

"What happened?" Athos eventually asked.

D'Artagnan sighed, and told him. "I know that a good musketeer is aware of everything around himself," he said. "But...today I wasn't, and Aramis was hurt defending me."

Athos said nothing at first.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan said. "My thoughts were on something other than my surroundings."

"Madame Bonacieux?" Athos said.

D'Artagnan looked at him, not sure if he should be surprised. "Yes."

"Love only causes trouble, d'Artagnan," Athos said, sounding bitter.

D'Artagnan frowned, but said nothing more.

They arrived at the garrison soon after, and d'Artagnan quickly dismounted and headed to the cart. Before he could jump inside to help, Athos did, and d'Artagnan stopped, assuming that Athos was angry and didn't want him to touch Aramis. He watched as they pulled him to the end of the cart and Athos held onto him as Porthos jumped down and took Aramis into his arms again.

Aramis groaned, eyes still closed.

"What on earth happened?!" a voice called out.

D'Artagnan cringed at Treville's arrival. "I'm sorry, it was my fault."

Treville looked at him with surprise and appeared to be at a loss of what to say. He reached out to turn Aramis' face towards him and was rewarded with the injured musketeer half-opening his eyes. He squeezed Aramis' shoulder before nodding at Porthos, who headed for Aramis' room.

D'Artagnan stood awkwardly, watching as Treville thanked the cart owner and offered him some coins.

The man shook his head. "Musketeers protect us; it was my pleasure to help."

Treville thanked him again and told another musketeer to fetch a doctor before heading for Aramis' room.

D'Artagnan followed. "I'm sorry, captain. I was attacked in an alley and Aramis came to my defense."

Treville sighed. "It happens, d'Artagnan. It's no one's fault."

Those words made d'Artagnan pause, and he gave no reply as they reached Aramis' room.

Athos and Porthos had removed Aramis' weapons and outer clothing, and after they made him comfortable, they awaited the arrival of the doctor. He didn't take long in coming, and told them that Aramis had a concussion and to keep him in bed.

The rest of the day and night were spent watching over Aramis in shifts, frequently waking him to ensure that he didn't lose consciousness.

D'Artagnan neither ate nor slept. All he could do was stare at Aramis and care for him as best he could.

It wasn't until after dawn of the next day when Aramis finally became aware of his surroundings. The first face he saw above him was d'Artagnan's.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan whispered, so as not to wake Athos or Porthos, who were asleep in their chairs. "I'm so sorry."

Aramis blinked painfully, trying to think around the throbbing in his head. It took a moment to remember. "Not your fault," he said, with a wince.

"But it _was_ ," d'Artagnan replied. "I wasn't aware of my surroundings."

Aramis smiled slightly. "No one is perfect…even a musketeer can be taken by surprise once in a while."

D'Artagnan sighed and lowered his head. "I was thinking of Constance."

"Ah," said Aramis, closing his eyes against the pain. "Thoughts of a fair lady are never amiss."

"Even when it gets a friend hurt?"

Aramis smiled slightly. "From _my_ point of view, I would say that I cannot blame you, but from _your_ point of view, I can understand, as I wouldn't want a friend hurt either." He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. "Therefore I forgive you, so you can be free of guilt."

D'Artagnan sighed. "It isn't that easy, but thank you."

Aramis smiled again, eyes still closed. "You should tell Madam Bonacieux to visit us soon; she hasn't slapped me lately."

D'Artagnan laughed and squeezed Aramis' arm. "I will."

Aramis fell back to sleep after that, and d'Artagnan smiled, waiting for one of the others to wake so he could fetch Constance.

THE END


	24. Treville

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The theme for this Saturday Story was Treville.

Did everyone see the d'Artagnan theme from last week? Seems like a lot of people missed it somehow!

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Captain Treville sat at Aramis' bedside, hardly able to look at the young musketeer. He was in a state of shock after twenty-two of his men had left Paris but only one had returned. The 'training mission' had been a ruse, but never in Treville's wildest dreams did he expect his musketeers to be slaughtered. Richelieu had tricked him, and Treville was so devastated that he could hardly breathe.

 _I'm responsible for their deaths,_ he thought to himself. _Twenty young men dead, one missing, and Aramis…Aramis…_

With a shuddering sigh, Treville dropped his face into his hands. Aramis had been his first recruit and had been at his right hand ever since. He couldn't stop thanking God that Aramis had survived the massacre…though he feared that he still could die. The head injury that he'd sustained was very serious, and the stab wound in his side had bled far too much. He'd almost frozen to death alone in that forest, surrounded by his dead comrades…

A sudden noise drew his attention, and Treville lifted his face to look at Aramis, who appeared to be waking. Relief filled him and he reached over to gently place a hand on the wounded man's head. "Aramis," he quietly said. "You're safe; open your eyes."

But Aramis' eyes remained closed. His eyebrows were furrowed in obvious pain and his breathing was coming fast, but he didn't react to the voice.

Treville gently smoothed Aramis' hair away from his forehead. "Aramis," he tried again. "It's Treville. You're home in the garrison."

Aramis moved his head slightly, before making a soft sound.

"That's it," Treville said. "Wake now, Aramis."

A sharp inhalation was the next sound that came from the young musketeer, and he winced before opening his eyes.

The sight of Aramis awake brought a relieved smile to Treville's face.

Blinking blearily, Aramis looked at him for a moment without much recognition, before his eyes suddenly opened wider and he grabbed Treville's arm. "Captain!" he exclaimed.

"Shh, shh!" Treville said, putting his hand on the side of Aramis' face. "It's all right; you're home and you'll be fine!"

Aramis was breathing much too fast, nearly panting as pain overwhelmed him…physical pain _and_ mental pain. "Only…me…" he choked out.

Treville's heart sank at his words. "I know, Aramis, I know. Just rest, everything will be fine."

"Fine?" Aramis said with a gasp. His face was paling even more than it already was as his body failed to handle his distress. "Fine?!" His eyelids suddenly fluttered and his grip on Treville's arm loosened as his body abruptly relaxed.

"Aramis?" Treville said, gently patting his cheek. "Stay with me!"

Aramis' eyes closed and his breathing slowed as he drifted towards unconsciousness. He hadn't the strength to fight against it, and he was quickly pulled back under.

Treville placed his hand over Aramis' heart to ensure that it was still beating. He sighed with relief when he felt it and dropped his face into his other hand. "God," he prayed. "I know it's too late for all of the others, but please…please don't take Aramis. _Please_!"

Unexpectedly, Aramis stirred and sluggishly brought up a hand to lay over Treville's, which was still resting over his heart.

Treville raised his head to look at him, and found him unconscious once again. He looked at Aramis' hand over his own before looking up at the ceiling, considering it to be a sign from God. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you!"

THE END


	25. Milady

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Saturday Story: Milady

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Milady rode out of the prison, her horse stepping over the bodies that she'd left on her way inside. Behind her, she could sense Aramis' dismay at seeing how many men she'd killed to save him.

"I had no choice," she suddenly said, surprising herself as much as Aramis at her need to explain.

The horse behind her was suddenly walking to her right, and she looked at the musketeer, seeing the shadows under his eyes that betrayed his exhaustion. It was obvious that he'd gotten little sleep in the nights that he'd been held prisoner, and from his pale, dry skin, she doubted that he'd been given much food and water…if any.

"Are the others safe?" Aramis asked.

Milady nodded. "Yes."

"Unharmed?"

"Yes."

Aramis sighed with relief. "Thank you for coming."

Milady looked at him again, seeing the genuine gratitude in his eyes. At that moment, he wasn't judging her, and despite the bruises on his face and disheveled appearance, she suddenly saw why Aramis was likeable. "You're welcome."

They were mostly quiet after that, and when they arrived at Constance's house, Aramis walked ahead of her and knocked on the door.

Milady watched as it opened, observing Athos as he grabbed Aramis around the neck and pressed a relieved kiss to his cheek. She hesitated as she walked through the door, watching as Aramis headed straight for Porthos and was enveloped in the bigger man's arms. The relief and joy in the room was tangible, and as d'Artagnan hugged Aramis next, Milady slipped into the first room she saw, needing to get away from the display of love that she wished she had in her own life.

 _I have to leave France,_ she thought to herself. _I still love Athos…I have to leave because I've driven him away and I can't bear seeing him if I can't have him._

Staring at nothing, she sighed, until she heard someone come into the room.

"Thank you for saving him."

It was Athos…of course, it was Athos.

Milady turned slightly and saw him holding out a goblet of wine, but she turned around again, unwilling to take it and have her hand brush his own. _I have to leave,_ she thought, forcing back tears. _I have to leave…but I don't want to. I don't want to…_

THE END


	26. Richelieu

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Saturday Story: Richelieu

Enjoy!

"It belongs to a musketeer named Aramis."

Richelieu immediately knew who that was; a very handsome young man with dark wavy hair and a perfectly-kept mustache and beard. It would be easy for such a man to attract the attention of any lady he chose, especially when he flashed his annoyingly-charming smile.

Richelieu sat and studied the pistol in his hand, barely noticing as Milady slunk away. It was obviously very expensive; seemingly too much for a musketeer to afford. He knew that Aramis was the best marksman in the regiment, and suddenly recalled that he had been the only musketeer to return from the Savoy massacre. He remembered being surprised that there had actually _been_ a survivor, and he'd considered killing Aramis in case he knew that the Duke of Savoy had been responsible for the attack, but Aramis had returned with a severe head injury that had addled him for so long that Richelieu had eventually decided that Aramis knew nothing.

But now, he wished that he _had_ killed him. Who would've thought that five years later, Aramis would take something so important that belonged to him? Oh, Richelieu knew that Adele already had a suitor before he even met her, but he hadn't known who, and didn't expect her to carry on with the man afterwards.

It hurt.

Richelieu sighed and put the gun down on his lap. Why was he so surprised? Adele was young and beautiful and wanted love; _real_ love. He knew that he couldn't give Adele what she really wanted; he was an old man...the First Minister of France and a catholic priest! He was no competition for a dashing, debonair musketeer.

Richelieu looked at the pistol again and made a decision: Aramis had to die. He could pay Milady to seduce him and slip poison into his wine, or perhaps slide a blade between his ribs. She would be the best tool; no one would ever discover the truth.

But then, he realized that as the musketeer's best marksman, he was needed. Only a week ago had Aramis saved the king's life when a stag unexpectedly charged him during a hunt. He'd pulled out his gun and shot the thing before anyone even had a chance to blink. It had amazed everyone present, including Richelieu himself.

Suddenly, he had a chilling thought. Had the whole thing between Aramis and Adele been planned? Was she spying on him for the musketeers? Richelieu had let many things slip when speaking to Adele, convinced that she would never betray him if she wanted to continue her lavish lifestyle. Was it possible that the things that he shouldn't have told her were getting back to Aramis, therefore back to Treville and then King Louis?

Richelieu stood to his feet so quickly that the pistol fell to the floor. Perhaps he was plotting to kill the wrong person. Adele needed to be silenced before she told Aramis too much...if she hadn't already. Killing Adele meant that he needed to let Aramis live; there was no doubt that the other two musketeers—Athos and Porthos—knew about the relationship between Aramis and Adele. If they _both_ were killed, the murders could get traced back to him, no matter who did the deed.

The thought of Adele being killed was terrible, and Richelieu sat back down again with a sigh. He didn't want her to die, but she'd sealed her own fate by betraying him. As for Aramis...the young musketeer had better not cross him again, or someday, he would seal his _own_ fate...

THE END


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